


Paper Planes

by eyessharpweaponshot



Series: Bellarke January Joy [3]
Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bellarke January Joy, Cheating, Divorce, Exes, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mutual Pining, Reunions, Smut, Toxic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 28,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29106660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyessharpweaponshot/pseuds/eyessharpweaponshot
Summary: Most people who divorce do so for a good reason. At least, that's how it's supposed to be.Bellamy and Clarke married young and impulsively, caught up in their whirlwind romance. Now, almost a decade later, they run into one another again. Bellamy has become successful and wealthy - something he never was when he was with Clarke. So why is it that he can't stop aching for a life he left behind so long ago? A time where he had nothing but a blonde girl and an old wedding ring to his name.Clarke is engaged now and Bellamy has moved on too, but after their reunion, it becomes very apparent that nothing can stop true love from interfering.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Bellarke January Joy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612459
Comments: 110
Kudos: 283
Collections: Bellarke January Joy 2021





	1. Permanent Reverie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Bellarke January Joy 2021!  
> This is my third year participating in this event and for my last two entries, they've been exes fics as well. Seems only necessary that I continued the tradition. Also, it's me, so you know.
> 
> Just a note: you can see from the tags that cheating is involved. If that's not something you're comfortable with, just click out. It's not something I condone in real life but thankfully, fic is a place where we can enjoy some guilty pleasures in the form of bellarke. It's not really in this chapter but expect it in the next.
> 
> Title: Paper Planes - Elina

_"You and I were building castles in the air without looking back_

_Now I tell you all the things that I don't really want to think about_   
_'Cause love is harder than it used to be_   
_And time runs faster than we pictured it_   
_I'm looking at you like it's us but I know there's a change of heart_

_At my side of the bed_   
_At the edge of every night_   
_When you're asleep, my mind_   
_Tends to wander off sometimes to_

_All our dreams and all our desires_   
_Are paper planes in front of our eyes_   
_Everything we've always believed in_   
_Will it hold us back?_   
_'Cause love is harder than it used to be_   
_And life is nothing like we pictured it_   
_Who are we to blame ourselves for moving on_   
_To become someone”_

* * *

“Happy birthday to Ontari!” Echo announces, raising her glass of wine to one of her work friends.

Bellamy joins in, clinking his bottle of beer against the others, trying very hard for Echo’s sake. He rarely goes out but tonight, his girlfriend had begged him to come. She has the most active social life, one that Bellamy could never usually keep up with. She’s an extrovert and enjoys celebrating absolutely anything with alcohol whereas Bellamy just prefers to stay at home, drinking wine while he cooks. He tries not to mind too much, though. It’s not like Echo ever asks much of him in terms of time.

He kind of wishes Murphy and Raven could have come out with them tonight. At least then he’d have someone to talk to rather than trying to make light conversation with Echo’s work friends.

He looks around the packed bar they’re in, letting himself focus on the crowds of people who are enjoying their Friday night. The place is still decorated with Christmas lights, despite being well into the second week of January. The bartender is run off his feet and Bellamy is glad he left that life behind long ago. He can leave his work place any time he wants rather than being stuck in a booze house until all hours of the morning. The joys of running his own company now.

Kane had left it to him when he retired. He was a good mentor and an even better CEO than Bellamy, but he left it all behind and settled down in the Bahamas sometime last year, telling his successor that quality of life is more important. Bellamy’s not sure he can agree. All he wanted was this position, something to hold to his name. It’s better than being a boy with a poor background and an even worse family life.

Echo laughs at something her friend has said and Bellamy smiles, nodding like he’s listening but really, he’s just counting down the hours until he can go home. Maybe he can convince Echo to get out of here early, entice her with the promise of a good fuck when they go home.

He leans back against his seat, opening the top button of his white shirt. He remembers when he used to enjoy this life, one where on his days off, he’d spend his entire night in a bar. He wonders if company has anything to do with it.

“You want another?” Echo offers, standing up.

Bellamy takes his credit card out of his pants pocket and hands it to her. “Something stronger, please.”

Echo smirks at him, leaning down to press a kiss against his lips before she slides out. He doesn’t mind spoiling her, buying her drinks all night and whatever else she wants. There were years he could barely afford to feed Octavia with his measly bar job. When he started earning his fortune, he swore he’d never be mean with money. Now, Octavia lives in a mortgage-free home at the far side of town and Bellamy has his luxury penthouse. He’s been thinking about asking Echo to move in with him. She has her own job, her own place and enjoys her independence, but maybe it would be good for them.

In between his work hours, Bellamy enjoys philanthropy and donating his finances wherever he can. It’s earned him some attention from the media lately but he doesn’t do charity work for that reason. He settled with doing one magazine interview and declined the rest, just because Echo kept nagging him about it. She wants him to be well known, to be a heart-throb millionaire adored by all.

He knocks back his beer, his eyes on his girlfriend as she approaches the bar. Her slender figure draws the attention of a few guys waiting on a drink but Bellamy just scoffs to himself. He doesn’t blame them for looking: she’s hot. Her little black dress is an inch too short, riding high on her thighs. She’s paired it with some over the knee boots that Bellamy hopes she’ll keep on later.

She smiles at the boys and flicks her long hair over her shoulder, refocusing her attention on trying to order a drink from the busy barman.

Every time the front door opens, a bitter breeze blows in and Bellamy instantly regrets drinking. He should have driven. The heated seats in his Audi R8 would have been way better than the cold cab’s leather he’d have to sit on later.

He watches the crowd coming in, shaking snow off their jackets and laughing loudly as if they’re after being in a few other bars before this one. That’s when his heart stops dead in his chest.

A blonde is at the front of the group, her hair curled to perfection. She’s wearing a long, burgundy coat that is definitely designer, matched with a soft, pink scarf. Gorgeous isn’t even a word for her. No, she’s fucking poetry contained in between the lines of her skin. Bellamy knows with this girl, though, it’s more than just aesthetics. He knows her underneath the makeup that can be wiped away, deeper than the expensive clothes she wears. Beautiful is the soul she was born with, etched into the way she dances in the kitchen while cooking and into how she laughs herself breathless.

His ex-wife has always been that bewitching and now, even after 10 years, Bellamy can see immediately that this hasn’t changed - even from across the room.

Clarke’s bright smile knocks him when she laughs at a dark haired man behind her, someone comfortable enough with her to put his hand on her lower back. He leans in, brushing his lips against her ear. Even though there are guys fawning over his current girlfriend, Bellamy can’t explain why his spine is ridged at this sight.

The universe must hate him because when the man steps away from Clarke, her eyes scan the bar and like a magnet, her gaze lands on him. Any remaining air is knocked from his lungs and he can only stare back at her, unsure of the appropriate response. How does someone behave when they see their ex after a decade?

Clarke sets the tone. She snaps her attention away quickly but her mouth gives away her discomfort. She’s just as thrown after seeing him. When her friends talk to her, Bellamy notices how she smiles in response but it no longer meets her eyes. She’s distracted, clearly in shock. Fuck, Bellamy knows how she feels.

Maybe it’s the confidence that the alcohol gives him but when Echo returns, he takes the whiskey she’s gotten him and gets up to let her pass into her seat. Then he finds himself striding towards his ex-wife. Echo has no idea he used to be married and it’s not something he advertises. Hell, they were only kids when it happened. A Vegas wedding, a spell conjured by youthful love.

Clarke spots him coming and seemingly steels herself, cocking up her chin and plastering a smile on her face that he knows is false. It surprises him to know that he can still remember her this well.

“Bellamy!” She turns towards him, at least pretending to be happy to see him.

He stops in front of her, straightening his suit jacket uncomfortably. “Clarke. It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah.” She grins, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “Wow, how long has it been? Like nine years?”

“Ten,” he corrects her, forcing a smile of his own onto his face.

Ten years, six days. He remembers it as if it happened yesterday. She signed her name on the divorce papers and shoved it towards their lawyer. Then she stood up, wrapped her Prada bag around her shoulder and walked out of the office like it was about to set on fire.

An awkward silence sits between them now and Bellamy’s jaw tightens. He hates it. It was never this way. Every single memory of them comes rushing back to his mind, as fresh as the days they happened. Like all they needed was some dusting off. He ignores the buzzing under skin and urges himself to relax, forces his shoulders to sit back.

“So, what are you doing in Seattle?”

Clarke’s bright blue eyes stare up at him, making his chest ache. “I’ve been living here for the past year now.”

Bellamy almost laughs at destiny in that moment. How is it that two kids from California ended up in the same place years later? The urge rises within him to prove himself to her and he’s not sure why. Maybe to rectify his character, to correct the prejudice that existed when they separated.

“I work uptown,” he says, watching how her gaze skims across his face. It makes heat rush to his cheeks. “I’m CEO of Kane Enterprises, now.”

Clarke’s lips turn upwards, the first genuine smile he’s seen from her tonight. “So I’ve heard.” Bellamy must make a face because she continues. “I saw your interview last week for ALIE magazine.”

Bellamy ducks his head shly, secretly hoping she’s impressed by that, even though he wouldn’t have done the damn thing only Echo pressured him into it.

ALIE asked him about his charity work, what a wealthy and gorgeous man like him enjoyed doing in his spare time and talked a little about his background. He didn’t give them much and refused to talk about his deadbeat birth mother. Instead, he spoke about how Kane took him in when his mom died, how he adopted him and his sister and raised Bellamy to take over his empire.

He yearns to know what Clarke thought about it, to know what she thinks of him now.

He was a nobody when he was married to her. They dated for a barely a year before deciding to form that commitment, the newness of love and lust guiding them through that time. There was so much excitement and obsession. A fire ignited between them that drew them together. Sex and infatuation made their relationship flourish, made the disapproval from Clarke’s mother seem so fucking irrelevant at the time.

Looking back, the rebellion of marrying one another was wild. It was Clarke’s idea and well, Bellamy was never one to refuse her requests. They jumped into his old pick-up truck and drove all night to Vegas. He was so fixated by her. That, for one, doesn’t seem to have changed.

“You must be delighted now that you’re a bigshot,” she says teasingly. The Christmas lights of the bar reflect in her eyes, sparkling at him like a star in the night’s sky.

He chuckles. “Yeah, it’s great.”

Maybe her mother would have a different opinion of him now. He knows she was influential in their divorce, although he can’t blame it on her entirely. When the hardness of arguments came, neither him nor Clarke had the communication skills to solve them. It was easier to just give up. They decided on a whim that both of them were very different people when in fact, maturity and perseverance was just lacking. But maybe they would have stood a chance if it wasn’t for the pressure on Clarke’s side at the time.

Whispers in her ear made things worse, made Bellamy not want to try if Clarke didn’t. Abby always told her that money was everything, that someone of his “standard” would never be able to provide for her. It just made Clarke rebel even more at the time but eventually, once the marriage was sealed and given to Abby as the ultimate middle finger, Clarke seemingly started to see their life for what it truly was.

They lived in Bellamy’s mother’s house for a while. Just her, Octavia and Bellamy because his mom was never there. Money was the biggest barrier. Bellamy was too aware of the fact that Clarke was used to a certain standard of living, one he couldn’t provide for her. And with each utility that was cut off, his temper and habit of self sabotaging got the better of him. The arguments brewed from there.

“It’s good to see you so happy.”

He can tell she means it but maybe she’s forgetting that Bellamy knew her all those years ago. She’s holding something back. He swallows thickly and tries to smile. He shouldn't be focused on impressing her right now. Or at all.

“What about you?” he asks, tucking his hands into his suit pockets. “What do you do now?”

“Journalism.”

He raises his eyebrows at that. He thought she’d head down the medical route. “Guess Abby didn’t get her way after all.”

Clarke laughs, the sound hitting every nerve ending in Bellamy’s body. “Well, I was never one for living for someone else.”

Bellamy smirks and she blushes instantly. He suddenly remembers that it used to turn her on when he smiled at her like that. He sports a beard now and is considerably broader from working out, but she clearly still thinks he’s attractive.

He doesn’t get a chance to think on that further because the guy that had his hand on Clarke’s back when they came in appears by her side, giving her a glass of white wine. He’s taller up close and has a beard like Bellamy. Clarke always had a type and this guy fits the bill.

“Babe, we have a table over here.”

“Oh great.” She smiles at him and then politely begins introductions. “Oh, Cillian, this is Bellamy.”

Bellamy takes the hand he extends, gripping it firmly. Maybe Cillian is intimidated by him because he feels the need to add on: “Her fiancé.”

It has the desired effect. Bellamy has to force his face to remain neutral but it hits him deep. He shouldn’t care, he has a girlfriend and a successful career. Their divorce has been final for years. And up until now, he didn’t think he’d care this much about her moving on. And why shouldn’t she? What did he expect? He certainly has.

“Nice to meet you,” he mutters, his eyes flicking down to Clarke’s gloved hand. No wonder he didn’t notice a ring.

Clarke shifts uncomfortably. “Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Bigshot.”

Bellamy nods at her politely. She’s walking away when he calls after her. “See you around, Princess.”

She snaps her eyes over her shoulder, recognising his old nickname for her. That used to turn her on, too. He didn’t intend to say it. In fact, he’s not sure why he did. Her gaze lingers on him for a moment longer before turning around, walking towards her friends.

Bellamy blows out a breath and takes another sip of his whiskey before returning to his own table.

“Who was that?” Echo asks him when he sits back down. Her tone is light and airy but Bellamy can detect undertones of jealousy anyway.

“Nobody, just an old friend,” he answers, deciding that there’s no point in getting into this now.

Besides, how does he even begin to explain who Clarke is? His ex-wife seems too poor a title to crown her with. Even an old friend doesn’t match up to the right description.

The love of his life? He huffs out a small breath through his nose. Yeah. That seems a little more accurate.

* * *

“I’m not seeing her again,” Bellamy is saying, pacing his office with his phone pressed to his ear.

The dark sky looms before him, on full display through his floor to ceiling windows. Rain is constant in Seattle and sometimes, he misses the California sun.

His sister sighs on the other end. “I don’t know why you do this to yourself.”

“Do what?” Bellamy asks indignantly.

“Make yourself miserable.”

“ _She_ made me miserable after she left,” he argues, shoving his free hand through his curls.

Octavia should know that better than anyone. She was there for the fallout, the heartbreak he went through. He regrets even telling her that he ran into Clarke the other night.

“No, _you_ made yourself miserable because you just let her go.”

He bites his lip to contain himself. “You want me to force someone to stay with me when they don’t want to? Pretty sure there are laws against that.”

Octavia groans down the phone. “Men are absolute idiots.”

“Mr. Blake.”

Bellamy spins around, seeing his assistant across the room by the door.

“Your two o’ clock meeting is here.”

He makes a confused face, not having a clue who that is. He gestures for her to let them in while he turns back around, facing back towards the windows.

“Look, Octavia, this isn’t happening. She’s engaged now.”

“Yeah, so?” his sister says brazenly.

“Yeah, and I’m with Echo,” he snaps, getting a little defensive.

The door of his office clicks closed behind him, signalling that the person he’s meeting with is here. This phone call has to be cut short, not that he’s complaining. Octavia can be so damn naive sometimes.

Octavia just laughs. “Well, _that_ ending wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“Goodbye, Octavia,” he grumbles, cancelling the call.

She has never liked Echo. She thinks she’s bossy and just loves spending Bellamy’s money. His sister is not one to judge on that front. He sighs, wondering why he thought telling her about Clarke was a good idea. Octavia always said she was the best thing to ever happen to Bellamy. Of course she’s going to favour his ex over his current girlfriend.

He spins around and the room tips off balance a little when he sees the woman herself sitting on the couch in the middle of his office - her long, bare legs crossed as she stares at him.

“Good afternoon, Bigshot.” She grins at him, a pen tip perched on her bottom lip.

He blinks a few times to make sure he’s seeing this correctly. Yeah, Clarke Griffin is definitely in his office right now. He slips his hands into his suit pockets and makes his way across the room, drinking her in as he goes.

She’s wearing a tight, black pencil skirt that comes just above her knee and a white button shirt that is probably meant to look professional but instead, it looks hot as hell. She’s wearing simple black heels and her hair is curled, looser than the other night at the bar. He trains his eyes on her face, reminding himself that looking at her like _that_ is more than inappropriate.

“Clarke Griffin. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He finds his voice, sitting down on the couch in front of her.

She laughs, that infecting sound washing over him so much that it makes his neck tingle. “You’re really so rich now that you don’t even look at your appointments?”

He smirks at that, leaning back casually and resting his ankle across his knee. “Guilty as charged.”

Clarke shifts a little across from him, pulling out a notebook from her bag. “I’m here for an interview on behalf of Polis.”

 _The Polis Journal._ So that’s who she works for. Bellamy should have known that Clarke excels at whatever she does, that she’d land a journalism position easily at the best newspaper in Seattle.

Still, he wonders why his assistant would even schedule this. “I don’t do interviews.”

“So I was told when I called.” She clicks her pen and leans forward. “But I told your assistant that I was an old friend, that you agreed to one with me already.”

Bellamy watches her lips turn up into a devilish grin. “Well, that was a lie.”

Clarke shrugs. “Yeah. But I figured you did one for ALIE, so you could do one for me.”

He stares at her for a moment before huffing out a quiet laugh. She always got her own way, found alternate routes for everything. It entertained him. He finds himself nodding in agreement, impressed that she is sitting in front of him now. She probably suggested the idea to her boss after seeing Bellamy the other night, told him she could score an interview with the elusive CEO of Kane Enterprises. It looks good for her career and Bellamy always strived to give her whatever she wanted. Guess that hasn’t changed.

“Let’s get started then, Bigshot,” she teases, adjusting herself so as to prop up the notepad on her knee.

Bellamy leans his head against his curled fingers, watching her with amusement. His gaze must make her confidence falter because she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and coughs as if to compose herself.

“Mr. Blake. Where are you from originally?”

He lifts his chin up, smirking at her loosely. “I’m sure there are some of these questions that you can fill in yourself.”

She shrugs, pursing her lips cutely. “Indulge me.”

He exhales. “California.”

“Were you into business there, too?”

“No, I worked in a bar on the weekends when I wasn’t in school.”

“And what brought you to Seattle?”

“My uncle,” he replies, watching every tiny movement on her face. “He took us in when our mother died.”

The teasing and light atmosphere that was here before they started is quickly evaporating. Clarke glances down, writing down his answer.

“I’m really sorry about that.” She looks back up at him, pain inside her eyes. “It must have been awful for you and Octavia.”

Clarke was long gone by the time his mother passed. He knows she went to New York for college and by the time she would have heard about his mother, it was probably past the point of appropriate condolences.

He doesn’t even want to venture down that avenue. He spent far too long being angry at his mother, at life for handing him such a shit hand when he was younger. Besides, Kane taking him in was the best thing that ever happened to him. He was just starting to work his way up in the company and was able to easily land Bellamy a job. By the time Kane was earning his fortune, he was already thinking about retiring.

“Worked out okay in the end.” Bellamy smiles tightly and Clarke gives him a nod, clearly understanding that it’s not something he wants to discuss. Interview or not.

“Marcus Kane,” Clarke goes on. “He taught you everything you know?”

“Yeah,” Bellamy confirms. “He has faith in me for some reason, said I’d make a good CEO. Maybe it was just simple nepotism though.”

“I don’t think so.” She smiles softly. “I could always see the potential there.”

For some reason, that makes heat rise to his cheeks. He lived to impress her back when they were married, ached for her approval with everything. He hates that he still wants that.

“You donate a large amount to charities,” she goes on, completely oblivious to the effect she has on him. But maybe he’s affecting her too. It’s like she’s talking around a small lump in her throat, like she’s getting choked up at his generosity. Or maybe it’s because she knows why he’d want to fund these things. “Children’s homes, organisations that fight against domestic abuse, drug and alcohol support groups.”

Bellamy nods, staring at her like he’s holding onto the blue in her eyes for dear life. “I’m waiting for a question, Princess.”

 _Damn it._ He internally winces at the nickname, watching her tense momentarily before she moves past it. Why does he keep doing that?

“My question is why be so media-shy about it?” she asks, writing absentmindedly in her notepad like she’s purposefully avoiding his eye.

“Because if you have to do good for people to see it, then your intentions are wrong.”

She shifts her gaze to him now. “With your platform, you could bring more awareness to these things.”

“I’m a businessman,” he tells her. “Not a celebrity. Nobody cares what I have to say.”

“Why is everybody desperate to interview you, then?”

He regards her intently. “Let me take a guess at what the rest of your questions are.” He leans forward. “My personal life. How often I go to the gym. My love life. Maybe some prying questions so you can get something juicy out of me. Some scandal or affair.”

Clarke is skimming down over the questions that her boss probably sent to her, her lips pressed together into a tight line. It confirms his suspicion.

“ _That’s_ what people care about,” he says. “I’m Seattle’s most mysterious millionaire. They just want an insight into that.”

“I get that you’re a private person, Bellamy.” There’s a familiar rise in confidence coming back into her voice. “But you’re wrong. If you talked about this side of your life, people would listen.”

He smirks slowly. “Maybe you’re right.”

She smiles in return, satisfied. “I’m always right.”

His stomach flips, releasing a rush of butterflies that take flight into his chest. He coughs to correct himself. He has a girlfriend and that rock on Clarke’s finger is hard to ignore. Their time has passed and it’s unfair of him to still be feeling this way.

She makes his head foggy and the ability to think rationally fades in her presence. It’s a job for him to make sure his eyes stay on her face, that they don’t drift down to her legs. It takes control to stop his mind thinking of scenarios that involve them around his waist.

“Want to continue?” He refocuses the interview, figuring it’s best if they just get it over with.

She must sense his discomfort because she sits back, straightening her shoulders. “Sure. How often do you go to the gym?”

The laugh tumbles out of his chest and her eyes crinkle when she giggles along with him. Fuck. He shakes his head, smiling. Every time he seems to grab hold of that restraint, she removes it from reach.

He answers her questions for the next few minutes and they manage to avoid any other awkwardness. That is until she asks about his love life.

“Are you seeing someone?”

His first instinct is to make some kind of flirty joke to blow off the tension but his mind quickly snaps him back into his lane. _Stop, Bellamy._

“Yeah. Her name is Echo.”

She’ll be thrilled at her name being mentioned in an interview, being vocally tied to him. It might earn him some brownie points with her, maybe soften the blow when he tells her that his ex-wife was his interviewer.

Clarke doesn’t show what she thinks about that. She just writes down his answer, giving nothing away. She nods at his hand. “But you’re not married?”

“No,” he replies. “Not anymore.”

This causes a reaction. She freezes, snapping her eyes up to his. He holds contact, a challenge there. Are they going to talk about it? They haven’t acknowledged that they were once promised to one another eternally, a ring on each of their fingers that testified to it. She wears a different one now. Her old one still sits in the top drawer of his dresser.

If she were impartial, she’d ask. Any other journalist would grab that line and run with it. Pry, probe, extort some deep rooted scandal of a previous engagement. He expects her to move onto another question because she’s not impartial and she’s not just any journalist. She’s his ex-wife. But maybe she considers her career more important because she cocks her chin up, accepting his challenge.

“Not anymore?” She writes it down. “Want to tell me more about that?”

Bellamy wets his lips, sitting forward. He cups his hands together and rests his elbows on his knees. He measures his words carefully, knowing they’re going to be published for everyone to see. “I married young. We were a couple of kids, just shy of 19.”

Clarke writes down his answers but Bellamy observes how tight her jaw is. She looks up, her eyes sweeping over his face. “Why did you break up?”

He considers telling the truth, that they weren’t prepared for marriage and they didn’t try hard enough. She always thought less of him and it became apparent the more they argued, the more she withdrew. The words get caught in his throat and he realises he can’t say any of that. Not without inviting more questions. He chooses a simpler option.

“Lack of maturity.”

“It was a lack of something, alright,” Clarke mutters lowly, scribbling down his answer.

He bristles. “Sorry?”

A lack of what? Money? She’s never said it out loud that she resented his ability to provide for her but it’s his biggest insecurity. To hear her say it would be worse than heartbreak.

She forces a smile and exhales loudly. “Nothing. I think that’ll be all.”

“Clarke.” He stands with her, watching her deposit her notes into her bag.

She breathes out a calming breath and seems to compose herself. Her eyes connect with his again, almost knocking the wind out of his chest. “Thanks for seeing me, Mr. Blake.”

And then she leaves. When the door closes after her, Bellamy is sure he’ll smother under the weight of a heartbreak he thought he left behind a long time ago.

* * *

_The dark lightens second by second, the sky transforming and adopting it’s morning hues. Bellamy looks over to the passenger seat, seeing Clarke starting to stir. Her curls are frizzy at the back from where her head was leaning against the leather seat. She wiggles her nose the way she always does when waking up and stretches up her arms. He smiles, the sight warming his heart._

_Then she looks at him, a softness in her eyes that resides there just for him. She reaches out and curls her fingers into the back of his hair fondly. “Morning, you.”_

_“Morning, Princess.”_

_“How close are we?” she asks, glancing forward at the road ahead._

_“Not far.” He takes her hand, bringing it up to his lips. “Are you sure you want to do this?”_

_She gives him a pointed look, flopping her head back against the headrest. “Become your wife? More than anything.”_

_He beams at her, grounding himself by gripping the steering wheel of his pickup truck tighter. Sometimes, he’s in disbelief that this kind of happiness exists._

_There’s a slow song playing on the radio and Clarke hums along, popping her feet onto the dashboard. She’s wearing a pair of white Nike’s and an old pair of Levi jeans, A shiver flies through Bellamy’s body and he has to close his eyes for a second, absorbing the feeling. It happens all the time with Clarke. He just can’t believe someone like her loves someone like him._

_Out here, away from home with the road ahead of them, it’s better - lighter. He has clarity, a sense of purpose. He can deserve her when both of them are just two souls, unchained and free. Nothing but cacti and electricity towers for miles on the landscape ahead of them._

_Maybe they’ll get married today and never go home. Maybe he’ll stop worrying about becoming someone and just be happy with who he is in an old pick-up truck, out on the open road with the only person to ever really see him._

Bellamy wakes steadily.

His eyes flicker open, taking in the simplicity of his penthouse bedroom. His luxury navy curtains are open, the morning dawn pouring in through the massive windows on both walls in front of him. Seattle greets him from afar and the sight is a special kind of beautiful. Yet, Bellamy’s heart sinks inside his chest.

He’d prefer a different sight in the mornings. Like a girl with Nike trainers and a soft smile.

For a second, he could almost let himself believe that nothing had changed. His dream of that memory was so clear, like his brain hadn’t been able to get over anything either. He could almost smell the warm air in his truck and the back of his head tingles as if Clarke had been touching it.

Fuck. He rolls onto his back, shoving his hair back from his forehead as he stares at the ceiling. They were just a couple of kids, running off to Vegas to get married. He knows it was rebellion but God, they really did love each other.

Now, they’ve both moved on. All of those memories have faded underneath layers of new ones. Bellamy got what he wanted. He’s successful now, wealthy and comfortable in a way that he never was before. So why is there a crevice in his chest so big that it’s threatening to swallow him whole?

He shifts uncomfortably, his bare skin sticking to the sheet beneath him. Was everything he wanted back then was just greener grasses? He pictured his life this exact way, attracted it to himself by nothing else but sheer force. He has a luxury penthouse, more money he could ever spend, seven expensive cars in the garage downstairs and an attractive girlfriend that never causes him frustration or starts arguments.

So why, when he looks back, did he feel happier sitting beside Clarke in that old pick-up truck that would break down every thirty miles? Back when she looked at him like he was celestial and he adored her with all he was. When eye contact was all they needed to connect, when no words were needed. If they pressed the mute button on their relationship, nothing would be different.

If he enjoys such an easy life with Echo, why did his heart thump wildly when Clarke argued with him at the side of the road on that trip? They were irritated with one another over the truck running out of gas. She stormed away from him, red sand blowing around her feet. But he wasn’t about to let her go off into the desert in a huff so he chased after her, spun her around and fit his fingers around the back of her neck. Then he pulled her into the most exhilarating kiss, one that lit up every single cell in his body. She ended up giggling into his mouth, her engagement ring glittering in the evening sun.

He had saved for six months to get her that and even then, it wasn’t anything substantial. The diamond had poor clarity and it wasn’t big enough to impress her mother when she showed her, but Clarke adored it. Their wedding rings weren’t much better, a simple and plain band. But God, he loved what they stood for.

His heart never beats like that anymore. Not unless he’s around her.

This is madness. He snaps the covers back harshly and gets up. It didn’t work back then and there’s no reason it would work now. Would she like him more now that he’s successful? Is that why he wanted to be in this position in the first place?

Fuck. No, he has to stop thinking like that. He wanted this for himself - for _Octavia_. He left Clarke behind and that’s where she needs to stay.

Bellamy splashes cold water on his face in his bathroom and grips the edge of his porcelain sink, staring at the droplets falling from his chin in the mirror.

Jesus, how is he unravelling so fast after two brief interactions with her? The problem is, the separation didn’t leave him bitter. He wishes the venom of the divorce stuck around, existed in his veins so densely that it left a sour aftertaste. Maybe then, he wouldn’t look at her now like she’s some kind of goddess and he still goes to her church to pray. Maybe then, he wouldn’t be thinking about her to the extent that he is.

But they’re pointless thoughts. Clarke is engaged now and he’s where he wants to be. That’s what he has to keep reminding himself. He grabs a towel and presses it against his face, blowing out a harsh breath into it.

This gut wrenching feeling of loneliness will pass. It always does.

* * *

It’s a week later when Bellamy sees her again.

Clarke is catching up with Raven at the other side of the bar, having only arrived five minutes previous. They must like the place after being here last week. He almost got sick when he saw her walk in, Cillian in tow. Her long, blonde curls tumbles over her shoulders and she’s wearing the most gorgeous black dress, strappy and backless. Echo is with him, so now more than ever, he has to force himself to look the other way.

Her piece about him in _The Polis_ _Journal_ came out a few days ago and despite their hair-rising moment at the end of the interview, Bellamy has to admit that the article softened him. She left out everything about their divorce and any other insensitive information they spoke about that day in his office. It was a perfectly plain interview that probably didn’t earn her as much brownie points with her boss as it could have, had she left in the saucey details. Mentions of their divorce would have sold them thousands of copies and yanked Clarke into the spotlight, improving her status as a journalist. Instead, she chose discretion and he’s grateful for it. She didn’t have to.

At the end of the article, she also added links for the charities he donated to, urging people to educate themselves on why they’re so important. She made sure to highlight that they were important to Bellamy, too.

He needs to remember to thank her for it but he’s thrown from seeing her tonight. He didn’t think he’d run into her randomly again - after all, it’s not like Seattle is a tiny village.

The second Raven walks away from her, allowing Clarke to order a drink in peace, Bellamy wrenches his friend away from earshot.

“What is she doing here?” Bellamy demands to know, glancing around to make sure people aren’t listening.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” Raven says, shaking her head. Fuck, this really is a small world. “Are you okay?”

Bellamy blows out a breath through his nose, gripping the glass in his hand a little tighter. Raven has worry written all over her face. She must think seeing her has floored him. It has, but not the same way as it did the first time he bumped into her.

“I saw her last week.”

Raven’s eyes widen, her reply barely audible over the bar noise and music. “What?”

He grimaces. “It was the night I asked you both to come out with us. She just waltzed in here out of nowhere.”

Raven just stares at him, expecting more because yes, of course there’s more. And Bellamy can’t lie to her. He sighs, muttering out the next part.

“And then she came to my office a few days later.”

“Bellamy,” Raven scolds like he’s done something wrong.

“It was for an interview.”

“You don’t do interviews,” Raven states the obvious and Bellamy rolls his eyes. She moves past his aggravation, never the one to be affected by it. “You didn’t tell us she was in town.”

“I told Octavia and regretted that,” he mumbles, scanning the bar for Clarke once more. “God knows what you two would have said.”

He finds her standing at a round table, greeting more of her friends that have just come through the door. How is it that they keep ending up in the same place, despite the fact that Bellamy never actually goes out? The only reason he’s here tonight is because it’s Murphy’s birthday.

“You gonna keep seeing her?” she asks carefully, her eyes now on Clarke as well.

Bellamy looks at Raven, a warning there. “I’m not _seeing_ her at all.”

Murphy arrives over right on queue, as if sensing this conversation needed his sarcastic remarks.

“I could have sworn I just seen your ex-wife at the other side of the bar.”

“Nothing gets past you,” Bellamy grits out.

Murphy throws his arm around the back of his neck, pulling him into him in a teasing manner. “It’s my birthday, less of your tone.”

Bellamy wiggles free, shoving him playfully. Murphy laughs, looking over at Clarke now.

“She hasn’t changed a bit. What is she doing here?”

“Apparently she lives here now,” Bellamy murmurs.

“Oh.” Murphy’s features wash over with a trace of sympathy for Bellamy, something that could be easily missed if they weren’t friends as long as they are. “Are you alright?”

Bellamy nods solemnly. “I ran into her last week. She’s a journalist now.”

“And he did an interview with her,” Raven adds on, her gin glass pressed against her bottom lip.

“An interview? You?” Murphy raises his eyebrows, puffing out a humorous breath through his lips. “You were always one to do the craziest things for her.”

“Marrying her wasn’t a crazy thing,” Bellamy argues the point he knows Murphy is making but the second it’s left his mouth, it sounds hollow. Their marriage didn’t work out, so it’s not like it was a smart thing.

Murphy tugs at his shirt cuffs and Bellamy catches him glancing at Raven, sharing a worrying look between them. They’re much like Clarke and Bellamy used to be, can communicate with one another silently.

They didn’t get together until a few years ago. Murphy followed Bellamy here after school, said he didn’t fit in with anyone else but him after Miller left for the military. They had been best friends for years and Murphy told him he felt lost in California without him. It’s why Bellamy was so surprised to see Raven show up a year later. Clearly, he fit in with someone else back home too.

Apparently she and Murphy had stayed in touch and their conversations had developed into something more somewhere along the way. She moved to Seattle for Murphy and never looked back.

They had all hung around together in school, so Raven and Murphy had a front row seat to the plane crash that was Clarke and Bellamy’s marriage. He understands why they’re worried.

“Look.” Raven puts her hand on Bellamy’s arm. “We just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Bellamy sighs. “We’ve both moved on and I’m not planning on going back down that road. It’s just a coincidence that we keep running into one another.”

_Coincidence or fate?_

Raven nods, her sleek ponytail moving in time with her head. Bellamy glances over her shoulder at Echo sitting next to the rest of Murphy’s friends. She’s the centre of attention as usual, laughing loudly and drawing everyone’s eye.

“I haven’t told Echo about her yet.”

“Well, if the press discovers it, she’s going to know,” Murphy points out.

“I know,” Bellamy agrees. “I’ll tell her tomorrow.”

The night moves on after that. Bellamy can’t tell if Clarke knows he’s here and to his credit, he tries not to look over. He focuses on playing a few games of darts with Murphy and his friends and tries to engage in conversation with Echo and Raven. His mind is spinning though, a painful awareness of a stronger presence.

It weighs heavy on him, triggering his nervous system as if he’s in some kind of danger. His ears are sharpened for her laugh, picking it up through the crowd of strangers in the packed bar. When he does sneak a glance over at her table, Clarke is leaning into Cillian’s side. Bellamy snaps his eyes away, irritated that he’s torturing himself like this, that he’s even feeling like this at all.

He hates that when he kisses Echo now, he’s picturing Clarke. This was never a problem until last week. He never let himself think about her to this extent, knowing it would dig up unresolved feelings. It’s hard to avoid it now when she’s in the exact same place as him.

Later, he’s waiting to order a drink at the bar when someone pulls him out of his reverie.

“It’s Bellamy, right?”

Bellamy turns his head, seeing Cillian standing over his shoulder. His blood turns to concrete, stiffening his entire body. He quickly recovers though, forcing a tight smile onto his expression.

“Yeah, hey.”

“I thought I recognised you.” Cillian leans against the bar beside Bellamy. “Clarke told me that she interviewed you the other day. I didn’t know you run Kane Enterprises.”

Bellamy nods, trying extremely hard to come off casual. He’s good with people. It’s how he made his way in the business world, how Kane moulded him to be. But talking to Clarke’s fiance is the hardest thing he’s ever done. He’s had no time to prepare and certainly no time to process any of this shit.

“That’s impressive.” He’s trying to be nice but Bellamy wonders if there’s an angle. Does he know that Clarke used to be married to him? “Can I get you a drink?”

Bellamy has to shake himself. He’s just gaping at him like a fish out of water and he’s coming off as insecure as he feels. He’s not exactly intimidated by Cillian but he hates that he’s jealous. He shouldn’t be. He straightens his back and smiles properly, accepting the offer. Cillian seems happy with that, placing an order for two beers from the barman.

“So, Cillian. What do you do?” Bellamy croaks out, trying to be friendly for Clarke’s sake.

“I’m a Paediatrician,” Cillian answers, accepting the drinks that the barman has delivered in front of them.

Bellamy almost laughs before he catches himself. _Of course._

“Now that’s impressive,” he gives him. Treating sick kids is much more noble than Bellamy’s title.

They chat for a while and to Bellamy's surprise, he actually likes the guy. He seems decent, good. Clarke could have ended up with worse. The more the conversation goes on, the more he realises that Cillian doesn’t know about their marriage. Bellamy knows people and he thinks Cillian is subtly probing for information, asking in roundabout ways for confirmation on what Clarke has told him. He’s an intelligent guy, he knows she’s leaving something out.

Bellamy plays along though, agreeing that they went to school together and leaving it at that. It’s not his place to tell Cillian about them. Maybe that’s why Clarke didn’t publish about his divorce, maybe she doesn’t want it all brought to light either.

The more they talk, though, the more Bellamy realises how little Cillian actually knows about Clarke. They’ve been together for two years but they seem to be talking about a completely different person.

“She’s reserved sometimes,” Cillian is saying, taking a sip of his beer. His eyes are on his fiance at the other side of the bar, completely oblivious to their conversation. “It’s hard to get her to open up. Was she always like that?”

Bellamy stares at Clarke, watches her throw her head back laughing at something the girl beside her said. She’s radiant, beaming. The entire bar seems to run on dimmed lights, half power, but she’s the sun in the centre, emitting life to every object around her.

“Yeah,” he lies. “That’s Clarke.”

It most definitely isn’t. She could never keep a secret from him to save her life. Every little thing that happened in her day, she’d have to text him about it. She spoke every thought inside her head, especially at night when they were trying to sleep. He’d be seconds away from dozing off and her mind would go into overdrive. She’d talk herself silly, ranting passionately about one thing or another.

Reserved isn’t a word he’d use to describe her. Even now, looking at her, she seems to have no problem socialising. She’s not like Echo where she _has_ to be the centre of attention but it just seems to find her anyway, drawing people to her like a moth to a flame.

Maybe she’s more guarded with personal stuff now, though. She did get like that near the end of their marriage. Bellamy could always tell that there was more she wanted to say in arguments but instead, she chose silence.

“Does she still paint?” he asks without thinking about it.

One glance at Cillian confirms he has no idea what he’s talking about. “She used to paint?”

Fuck. Clearly not anymore. She used to paint everything. Every Christmas, she’d ask for new brushes and canvases. If they went to the mall, she couldn’t leave without choosing a new tool or paint colour. She was the best in the school at art and won every single competition she entered.

The disappointing realisation hits Bellamy then that maybe he doesn’t know her at all anymore. He used to know every single piece of her: the way her hair flipped over in the mornings after waking up, her curls cascading over her eyes; the way she used to chew her lip when she was nervous; the way her shoulders tensed when her mother called; the way she liked way too much ketchup on absolutely everything; the way she loved going to bed when the day was hard, even if it was just to lie there, even if it wasn’t dark yet.

It strikes him then that he doesn’t know Echo like that. He’s so preoccupied with all these thoughts that he doesn’t notice Clarke approaching.

“Bellamy,” she greets him with her usual smile, taking him by surprise. “Cillian. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I was just getting to know your friend.” Cillian puts his arm around her. “He was telling me you used to paint?”

Clarke’s eyes shift to Bellamy’s and his cheeks burn. He can’t read her reaction and it makes his heart skip.

“Yeah, once. Sometimes I still do if I can’t sleep.”

Cillian furrows his brow, a stilted smile on his face. “You never told me that?”

Clarke shrugs, clearly a little uncomfortable after being outed. Bellamy immediately feels guilty, worried that he’s exposed an area of herself that she likes to keep private now.

“Can I have a word, Bellamy?” she asks him, nodding off to the side. “Just about the interview.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Cillian says politely, holding out his hand for Bellamy to shake. “It was nice talking to you.”

Bellamy takes his hand, gripping it steadily. “You too.”

Clarke smiles tightly and leads Bellamy away from the bar. He catches Raven’s eye across the bar and she shoots him a questionable look. He ignores it.

“Clarke, about that, I’m sorry, I -”

“No, Bellamy.” She takes a breath, wringing her hands together. “I’m sorry. The way I acted the other day at the end of the interview, it was unwarranted.”

His face drops. He wasn’t expecting that. He thought she was going to say something about his conversation with Cillian.

“No,” he stutters. “Don’t worry about it.”

She gestures to a table beside them that has just come available and Bellamy follows the instruction, sitting down opposite her.

“I caught the article,” he confesses. “Thank you. For going easy on me.”

She huffs out a short laugh. “I could have destroyed you without the interview if I wanted to.”

He squints at her. “How so?”

Her lips break into a cheeky grin. “I still have that video of you on my camcorder when you tried to set up a band.”

Bellamy lifts his hands to his face, covering his shame as he laughs. “Oh, God.”

He remembers that all too clearly. He had acne, braces and thought it was cool to apply Octavia’s eyeliner too heavily. His hair was way too long and unkept and he used to wear beanies all the time. Him, Miller and Murphy would “practice” every evening after school in Miller’s garage.

He and Clarke weren’t dating at that point and he wonders how she ever agreed to go out with him after that. Their musical talent was poor, for a lack of a better word, and their style even worse. The tabloids would have a field day with that footage.

She giggles along with him. “Hey, I was no prized pigeon at that age either. I wore too many braids in my hair and favored blue eyeshadow a little too much.”

“You were always beautiful to me.”

It slips out as natural as breathing. Their eyes connect for a moment before she flutters hers away, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear.

“Cillian, he seems great.” Bellamy changes the subject.

It doesn’t seem to put Clarke at ease at all. In fact, she just looks more awkward now. “Yeah.”

“A doctor.” Bellamy smirks. “Your mother must be thrilled.”

“She finds him dull, actually,” Clarke counters. “You had more in common with her.”

He scoffs. “What have Abby Griffin and I ever had in common?”

“Well for one, you’re the only two people in the entire world that cares about what she thinks.” Clarke leans back against her chair, a smartass smile on her face.

He grins back at her, wondering how they always end up a thread away from flirting. He almost said that _she_ cares too, otherwise they wouldn’t have ended. But he decides to keep it civil.

“I see you still think you’re as funny as ever.”

“I am funny.” She gives him a pointed look.

He takes a sip of his beer, watching her with amusement. She’s breathtaking. Her little black dress sticks to her curves, accentuating her gorgeous body. It’s her face that makes his heart race though. That smile. Those eyes.

Fuck. What is he doing? He glances across the bar, noting that Echo is still very much wrapped up in conversation with one of Murphy’s friends. Raven clearly hasn’t forgotten about him, though. She widens her eyes at him, screaming a silent question at him: “ _what are you doing?_ ”

He gives her a communicative look back, trying to convey that he’s got this handled. When he turns back around, Clarke is staring at him.

“What?”

“It’s just…” She pauses, chewing on her bottom lip. “We used to be married, right?”

“Oh, that’s where I know you from.”

Clarke bites back a smile. “You still think _you’re_ as funny as ever.”

He smirks at her. “Yes, we used to be married. What’s the real question?”

Whatever she was gonna say clearly dissipates. He can see her rethinking it. She plasters on a smooth confidence and shrugs one shoulder.

“Nothing. Just like to hear you say it.”

He lets her away with it, laughing roughly. She shoots him a flirty glare and takes a drink from her wine. Clarke always had that way about her, an ability to pull him in and under.

She used it to her advantage in school, encouraging him easily to skip classes and escape through a hole in the fence at the back of the building. They’d follow the carved out lane until they reached an untouched garden of barbs and greenery. There was a rotten old bench in the middle that creaked when they sat on it and that’s where they’d spend the next hour getting lost in eachother, learning how their bodies worked.

The sugary smell of summer was in the air, an essence of the end of school along with it. Her skin was slightly tanned from the sun and he remembers exactly how it tasted. They could only go so far between classes so she’d use that time to tease him, a promise of what would come later when they’d retreat to his house.

“Earth to Bellamy.”

Clarke snaps Bellamy out of his memories and when he looks at her, she’s staring at him curiously. If only she knew what he was thinking about.

“Sorry, what?”

She chuckles. “I asked if you have any advice. My mother is coming to visit this weekend.”

“Run and hide,” he offers, extracting another laugh from her.

“My hideout is long gone,” she quips, a nod that _his_ mother’s house was her escape.

She’d spent every waking minute there when they weren’t in school and her mom could do nothing about it. She was always at the hospital anyway, only using her time off to criticize Clarke and their relationship.

“Why is she coming anyway?”

Clarke blows out a breath, shaking her head. “She wants to start the wedding plans, says I’m dragging my feet about it.”

Bellamy tries to ignore the pinch in his heart at this. Maybe it’s because they never did that. The phase of planning was skipped, rushing straight to the act in question. Or maybe it’s the fact that she’s getting remarried that’s the biggest kick of all. What hurts even more is that even though Abby thinks Cillian isn’t perfect, she clearly doesn’t think he’s trash. Not if she wants to help plan the wedding.

“You should be excited.” He tries to pep her up. “It’ll be fun to have such a big celebration.”

She looks at him, some kind of mystery turning over in her mind. The bar noise fills the silence for a few moments. “I preferred the way we did it.”

“What? Sneaking off in the middle of the night?” He laughs but it fades out when her face remains serious.

“I mean, it’s what a wedding should be about, right? Two people making a promise to one another. I don’t think it needs to be publicized.”

In moments like this, Bellamy is hauled back to the past, to a place where he knows Clarke better than he knows himself. Her eyes transport him there and suddenly, he’s staring into the eyes of the girl he loved so purely. Maybe he still does. The thought terrifies him.

He swallows thickly, trying to move past it. “Who says you need to do it that way?”

“Cillian wants a big wedding,” she mumbles. “He’s close with his family and has lots of friends.”

Bellamy takes a breath to speak, preparing himself to reassure her and make her feel better about it all. It's not really a conversation he wants to have with his ex-wife but he also wants her to be happy. That's all he's ever wanted. His speech is cut off before he can even begin, though, because Echo drops onto his lap dramatically.

“There you are,” she gushes, delivering a sloppy kiss against his neck.

Bellamy has to grab her around her waist to stop her from falling. She’s wasted. When he looks over at Clarke, it seems to snap her into action.

“I’ll leave you to it.” She smiles tightly, taking her wine glass and excusing herself quickly.

Bellamy’s eyes fall shut in disappointment. Damn it. His teeth clench when Echo presses her lips against it and he has to correct himself. He shouldn’t be annoyed at his girlfriend interrupting a conversation between him and Clarke. It’s not right.

“Okay, babe. Take it easy,” he says as she kicks her legs up, laughing when her head lolls against his shoulder.

He glances across the bar to where Clarke is rejoining her group of friends. He hates that he would have gladly sat and talked with her all night.

“Who were you talking to?” Echo slurs, sitting upright on his lap now and facing him. “That same girl from last week?”

“Yeah,” he confesses, figuring now is as good a time as any to tell her. He was planning on saying it tomorrow but now that the subject has been broached, he might as well. “Look, I need to tell you something.”

Echo straightens and pops off his lap, collapsing onto the chair that Clarke previously occupied. She pulls her long, brown hair from her face and seems to try and compose herself. Bellamy wonders if saying this while she’s drunk is such a good idea but Echo was always one to handle herself in that regard. She might be over the limit but she’ll remember this in the morning.

“Sounds serious.” She reaches across and grabs his glass of beer, taking a gulp.

Bellamy blows out a breath, sitting forward with his hands cupped between his legs. “I didn’t say it before, but that girl-” He nods across to Clarke who is leading Cillian onto the small dance floor in the bar. Echo follows his eye. “We used to be married.”

Echo’s gaze snaps back to him. “Married?”

“Yeah. We were kids, barely grown.” He’s about to say it was a stupid decision but it dies on the tip of his tongue. Is it really a regret for him? “It didn’t last long.”

“And you never thought of telling me this?”

“It’s not something I talk about,” he admits. “And it’s not something I want in the press.”

Echo leans back in the chair, crossing her long legs. Her lips are tight and he knows she’s probably a little annoyed that he kept it from her but he thought she would take the news way worse.

“Look, it’s not like I’m worried.” She glances across at Clarke again. “I mean, look at her. You’ve upgraded.”

Bellamy’s jaw clenches. _What?_

Echo leans forward, taking his hand in both of hers. “Oh come on, it’s a compliment.”

He brushes past it, sighing out a breath. “So you’re not mad?”

“Bellamy, I don’t care who you used to date or who you talk to now,” she declares. “As long as there’s no feelings there on _her_ end?”

He looks over at Clarke, laughing with Cillian as he spins her around on the dance floor. His arms wrap around her stomach and his lips brush against her ear.

“No.” Bellamy’s gut tightens when his ex-wife beams up at her current fiancé. “There’s not.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, everyone needs to check out [this](https://underbellamy.tumblr.com/post/641866962462441472/bellarke-fanfiction-dedication-paper-planes-by) amazing edit for this fic by Bri (@underbellamy). I’ll never be over her talent and kindness.
> 
> A special thank you to Essie for running [Bellarke January Joy](https://bellarkejanuaryjoy.tumblr.com) again this year.
> 
> An extra shoutout to Ciara (icantloseyou-too) who always reads my work and was my biggest cheerleader while writing this fic. She’s amazing and I love her.
> 
> You can find me both on [tumblr](http://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100). As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated 💛
> 
> You can find the [aesthetic](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/641829500362145792/paper-planes-a-bellarke-modern-au-chapter-%C2%BD) for this fic here.


	2. Stubborn Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the positive response on this fic, I was nervous to post it but I'm glad you are all liking it. There's an additional trigger warning for this chapter (bottom notes, in case you need to check it) and also, it's ended up longer than I anticipated so we'll finish up on the next one.
> 
> Enjoy.

Clarke is flicking through the pile of magazines on her kitchen island, leaning against the marble with her hand perched under her chin. She yawns widely, hating that she’s up before 10 on a Saturday.

“Tired, babe?” Cillian pours some coffee from the jug into a travel cup.

“I don’t see why we couldn’t just leave later,” Clarke complains. “Why does it have to be at the crack of dawn?”

“It’s 8am.” Cillian grabs his keys off the island. “She’s not trying to kill you from lack of sleep or anything.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.”

Cillian smiles, pressing a kiss to her cheek on his way past. “Be nice.”

“I’m not making any promises,” she mumbles, just as she hears her mother come into the kitchen.

“Have a good day, you two,” Cillian calls over his shoulder. “Bye, Abby.”

“Oh, goodbye!” her mother replies as the front door closes behind her fiance. “Did he even have breakfast?”

“I don’t know,” Clarke mutters, still turning the pages of her magazine. “He was up before me and he’s a big boy. He’ll eat if he’s hungry.”

Her mom hums evenly, her disapproval up as early as her this morning. She lifts the jug of coffee and smells it, making a face. Clarke rolls her eyes and looks back down to her magazine, pretending that she didn’t see it. She knows what’s coming.

“Maybe we should leave a little earlier than expected, get some real coffee.”

“That is _real_ coffee.”

“Alright,” her mother acknowledges. “Good coffee, then.”

She is exhausting. Clarke has to physically stifle a groan. She snaps over another page, pretending interacting with her mother isn’t draining her of every ounce of life. She loves her, she really does. Just from a distance.

“Maybe you could look into getting that new Italian machine that I had imported,” she goes on. “It’s amazing.”

“Yep.” Clarke mumbles, her chin moving against her hand. “It’s on the top of my to-do list.”

Her mother sighs, leaning against the opposite side of her island. She runs her fingers through the collection of magazines there. “Not a single bridal one.”

“I know,” Clarke says sarcastically. “Imagine.”

“Clarke, really,” her mom scolds. “You could at least pretend to be interested. This is the biggest day of your life.”

“It’s really not.” Clarke doesn’t look up at all, scanning the page in front of her. “I’ve done this before.”

“That was hardly real.”

“My divorce bill said differently.”

Her mother straightens, folding her arms. “Well. Good thing you got out of that when you did. He was going nowhere fast.”

Clarke snaps her eyes up, only delighted to prove her wrong. She plasters on the best smug grin she can manage and roots through her magazine pile until she finds the ALIE one she’s looking for. Her mother watches her with curiosity as Clarke finds the spread of Bellamy’s interview, a two page segment of questions and answers followed by a couple of pictures of him. She tosses the magazine across the island, smirking as her mother’s face falls. She picks it up, scanning the article.

“Think he earns our Griffin family fortune every six months,” she brags, as if it’s somehow _her_ accomplishment.

It’s worth everything to watch her mom’s lips twist into something unpleasant. Shock is plastered all over her face. If nothing else, Clarke can relate to that.

She remembers seeing it for the first time, too. She’s been in Seattle a year and of course she had heard about the mysterious CEO of Kane Enterprises. Everyone talked about him, especially everyone in Clarke’s office. Her boss was dying for an interview with him but kept getting refused. Clarke had no idea who he was until ALIE published their interview.

A few of her co-workers were fawning over his pictures, huddled over one another like lovestruck teenagers. When Clarke questioned what they were looking at, they showed her the first interview this mystery man has ever done. Upon seeing Bellamy’s face gazing back at her, the muscles in her legs almost gave way. He was standing against a wall in a three piece navy suit, his head dipped but cocked towards the camera. His white shirt contrasted against his skin tone beautifully and his messy curls fell over his eyebrows. Even in the picture, Clarke could tell how toned he was. A beard coated his face now but fuck, he was still as gorgeous as the day she left.

The girls took her silence and shock as amazement, like Clarke was silently agreeing with them that he’s as hot as hell. But really, she was just trying to catch her breath. She had no idea he was in Seattle, let alone considered the city's sexiest millionaire.

“Well.” Her mom coughs, correcting her posture. “He’s made something of himself. Good for him.”

“He was always something to me,” Clarke bites out.

She loved him when he didn’t have a penny to his name. None of that stuff mattered to her, only to Bellamy and her mom. Which is why she’s relishing in shoving it in her face.

Her mother folds her arms across herself, her eyes sharp on Clarke. “So, he’s living here now?”

“Yeah.” Clarke takes the magazine back from her, giving a long look to his picture again before closing it. “I interviewed him myself last week, actually.”

Her mother’s voice drops to a whisper. “You did what?”

“I interviewed him?” Clarke shrugs like it’s nothing. “I am a journalist, you know. It’s part of my job description.”

“To interview your ex-husband?”

“Thought it wasn’t a real marriage.”

“ _Clarke_.” Her mother’s tone is harsh and serious, clearly not appreciating her snarkiness. “You’re engaged.”

Clarke barks out a laugh, swinging around the island to grab herself a travel mug from the sink. “So I can’t interview other men, is that what you’re saying?”

“Bellamy isn’t just any man.”

“You’re right there,” Clarke mutters, barely audible.

It’s out before Clarke even realises she’s said it and instantly feels guilty. She shouldn’t be thinking like that about him. Every single time she sees him, though, the same process starts pouring through her. The instant attraction, the flutter of butterflies, the nostalgia of old love, the impulsivity of flirting and finally, ending with guilt.

“Look.” Clarke turns around, facing her mother as she pours herself a coffee from the jug. “I’ve moved on, so has he.”

The image of his model thin girlfriend pops into her head, tall and dazzling on Bellamy’s lap the last night in the bar. He was so wrapped up in her, his fingers brushing against her waist as he held her in place. It literally turned Clarke’s stomach and she hated it. The thoughts of him kissing her overwhelmed her mind. It led to her thinking about his lips against Echo’s bare skin and wondering if he fucked her like he used to fuck Clarke.

She tried to move on with her night, distract herself by dancing with Cillian. It just ended up in an argument that _she_ started. They fought the whole cab ride home and then continued it in the apartment.

She demanded to know why Cillian spoke to Bellamy that night. She knew he was prying, trying to figure out some kind of information about how they knew each other because she gave him nothing when he asked the first time they ran into one another. It was none of his business and her past was something she wanted to keep private, especially for Bellamy’s sake. He didn’t want it out there and neither did she. All it would do is cause unnecessary attention from the press.

He had an agenda, which he finally admitted at the end of the argument. He told her that he just wanted to know who he was dealing with, so she accused him of not respecting her boundaries. He said he was sorry and that he just felt like there was some attraction there on Bellamy’s part. She assured him that there wasn’t. How could there be? He’s with Echo.

“Well, as long as you remember that you made a commitment to Cillian,” her mother says. She might as well be wagging her finger at Clarke, like she’s somehow seven years old again.

“I made a commitment to Bellamy first,” Clarke snaps. “You didn’t give a damn about that one though.”

Her mother exhales harshly and takes a breath in through her nose as if to compose herself. The smile she gives Clarke is forced after that.

“Let’s not ruin the day.”

When she leaves to get her purse and jacket, Clarke can’t help but mutter under breath, always needing to have the last word.

“Let’s just get the damn day over with.”

* * *

The day is grey and the clouds over them threaten rain all morning, but none comes, much to Clarke’s disappointment. Maybe then, her mother would cut their quest short, resign to spending the rest of the day in some restaurant. She’s not dressed for Seattle weather, wearing some French designer mid-dress instead of a simple pair of jeans and boots like Clarke. Alas, the suffering must go on because the rain stays distant.

Clarke trails along behind her as her mom goes on and on about flower arrangements and colour schemes. It’s not that Clarke doesn’t want to marry Cillian, she does. In ten years, she hasn’t found anyone better. It’s just...God, is it meant to feel like this?

She almost asked Bellamy about it the other night in the bar before she caught herself. When _they_ used to be married, the feeling of butterflies and excitement never faded. They argued like no tomorrow and nobody got her blood pumping like him, but fuck, they really loved one another.

She remembers how she used to stay up late, waiting until Bellamy came home from his shift at the bar. Then they’d kiss, make love and watch horror DVDs that they rented from the local store. It was so simple but magical.

The feeling could be attributed to young love, to them still being in the “honeymoon” phase, but Clarke really doesn’t think so. The way she loved Bellamy can’t be replicated. She’s resigned herself to that. The world could turn out it’s most desirable candidates and she’d still have to return to him if she wanted to experience true love. Nobody compares to him.

The same level of passion isn’t there with Cillian. Most of the time, she’s asleep by the time he gets home from the hospital. The worst part is, she doesn’t care. It almost feels like she’s moving through someone else's life at an agonizingly slow pace, going through the motions and watching the blurs go by. She’s comfortable and Cillian is a good man. At this stage in life, she thinks she should just settle with that. What else is she looking for?

Her mother has stopped outside a florist store, pointing at some weird plant that she thinks would look good at the reception. Clarke isn’t even looking at it. Her heart is doing over time because oh God, is this really what she wants? To be tied to someone that makes her want to be in work more than she wants to be at home with him? To marry someone because he’s good, not because he’s _right?_

She’s saved from thinking any more about that when a girl’s voice calls her name.

“Clarke Griffin?”

She spins around, spotting Octavia Blake striding towards her. Her long, poker straight hair is pulled into a ponytail, showing off her sharp jawline that matches her brothers identically.

Clarke smiles, turning just in time to give her old sister-in-law a hug. “Octavia.”

“Bell told me you were in Seattle now.” She beams at her, despite the fact that she probably had to help her brother through their divorce. By moral law, she should hate Clarke. It’s clearly not the case. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good,” Clarke says on autopilot, something she just goes with now even if it’s not the truth.

Octavia’s gaze moves over her shoulder and her smile falls back a little. “Mrs. Griffin. Nice to see you.”

Clarke stiffens when she feels her mother step in beside her. “Ah. Octavia Blake, is it?”

Octavia’s purses her lips. “It is.”

Clarke is just about bid her goodbyes to Octavia, not wanting any part in what her mother might say to her, when Bellamy emerges from the coffee shop next door to the florist. His eyes land on Clarke immediately and she becomes rooted to the spot.

He looks incredible, dressed in a simple black sweater and jeans. His curls are tossed, unstyled - but his beard is freshly trimmed. Clarke’s mouth goes dry even looking at him. He has a takeaway cup of coffee in both hands and he wears a plain silver Rolex on his wrist.

“Princess.”

He greets her with a smirk - no, _the_ smirk. The one that used to make her knees weak and her body his. That, combined with the use of her old nickname tinges her cheeks scarlet. She presses her lips together, smiling uncomfortably at him. The only solace she can take is that he looks caught off guard, especially when he spots her mother.

“Mrs. Griffin,” he addresses her shortly.

It might come off as rude if Clarke didn’t know him so well by now. He’s as intimidated by her as he always was. Her mother tilts her head at him, a smile that looks too false on her face.

“Bellamy, how nice to see you again.”

“Right.” Bellamy hands a coffee to Octavia, both of them standing awkwardly now in front of them.

“I saw your interview for the magazine this morning,” Abby says tightly. “You’re a CEO, now.”

Bellamy’s shoulders slide back, like this is something he doesn’t have to be ashamed about. He cocks his chin up, nodding politely. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Ah, well.” Her mother blows into her hands as if trying to inject warmth into them. “Isn’t that nice? How lucky you were to have your uncle.”

Clarke bristles. She snaps her head towards her mother, eyes widening. She can detect the backhanded compliment in that and she’s sure the Blake's can as well.

“ _Mom_.” She defends him on instinct. “Bellamy worked really hard.”

“I never said otherwise, darling.” She spreads her hands out as if she’s offended by the attack.

Clarke grits her teeth, inhaling a deep breath through her nose. This is why Bellamy found their relationship as hard as he did. How could anyone possibly live up to this woman’s standards?

“We’re just out doing some wedding planning,” her mom goes on, chatting to the Blake’s like they’re old friends.

Really, Clarke knows she’s trying to get a point across. She’s always working an angle, _always_.

“That’s nice,” Octavia comments. When she looks at Clarke, though, the smile there is genuine. “Congratulations, Clarke. Are you excited?”

Clarke glances at Bellamy who is looking away now, his eyes squinting at something down the street. His fingers are wrapped tightly around his cup of coffee, his other hand in his pocket.

“Yeah, very,” she replies, twirling the engagement ring around her finger. _Another lie_.

“He’s a wonderful man,” her mother adds on. “A Paediatrician.”

“I thought you said he was dull?” Clarke throws that back at her, knowing that the only reason she’s saying all of this is to get at Bellamy.

“I never said that.” Her mother tries to laugh it off but Clarke won’t let up.

“Yeah, you said it after the first time you met him.” Clarke smirks at her, enjoying how uncomfortable she’s getting. “You said he was a little vain, too.”

“Anyway,” her mom cuts her off, smiling tightly at Octavia and Bellamy. “We better be going. A lot to do.”

Clarke’s chest rises and falls sharply, closing her eyes for a second. She wonders if it’s actually illegal to murder your parent or if it’s just frowned upon.

Her mother starts off walking but doesn’t go too far, waiting for Clarke just a couple of feet ahead. It’s obvious she just doesn't want her daughter lingering around her ex-husband.

Octavia waves goodbye and trails off up the street in the opposite direction. Clarke meets Bellamy’s eye, hoping she manages to silently convey her apology through the contact. He smirks, stepping out around her as he follows his sister. On his way past, though, his shoulder brushes against hers as he leans into her ear.

“Deep breaths, Princess.”

The vibrations of his tone spill through her, causing her stomach to swoop. She bites back a smile because her mother is looking and walks on, satisfying the woman ahead of her. God, that man. He always had that effect on her.

She looks back over her shoulder after she’s walked a few paces, only to see him glancing back at her. The goosebumps appear involuntarily and she thinks if Bellamy were the human embodiment of hell, she’d gladly suffer in him for all eternity.

* * *

Clarke never thought she’d be so relieved to see her office on Monday morning.

She arrived early to catch up on weekend emails, desperate to spend less minutes with her mother. Cillian is dropping her back to the airport this morning and already, Clarke’s chest feels lighter. That woman is a concoction of tension and irritation.

She pulls herself into her desk, sipping on her “bad” coffee from her glass jug at home. Her mother always did appreciate the finer things in life - Clarke couldn’t say she shared the same interest. She just wants to be happy.

“I don’t believe it.” Harper pops her head in around the door, a stack of papers and files in hand. “Clarke Griffin, here before 8am?”

“Oh, Harper,” Clarke groans, rubbing her temples.

Her friend winces, coming in to sit down on the chair at the other side of Clarke’s desk. “Ooh, that bad, huh?”

“Worse than bad. She was a nightmare.”

Clarke had complained incessantly all last week about her mother’s visit, so Harper is well informed on the subject.

“Did you get much wedding planning done?”

“I don’t even know,” Clarke admits, tucking her hair behind her ears as she clicks on her laptop. “I did my best to just block her out.”

She doesn’t mention the fact that they ran into Bellamy on Saturday. Nobody knows that she has a connection to the CEO of Kane Enterprises, they all were just impressed that she managed to weasel her way in for an interview with him. She can’t even bring herself to tell Harper that they used to be high school friends, let alone married. It would just open up the secret to larger circles and it’s better for both of them if this stays away from the press.

She glances down at her engagement ring, large and shiny on her finger. It’s so extravagant compared to her old one - a single diamond perched on a plain white gold band. The one Bellamy gave her was smaller, halo shaped with two tiny diamonds either side. The band was decorated in other tiny diamonds and even though it wasn’t as big a carat as Cillian’s one, Clarke finds herself preferring it. Maybe because it meant something to her. She knew how much effort Bellamy put into buying it for her and when he put it on her finger, it felt _right_.

She left her wedding ring with him the day they called it. The clink of metal against the glass table in his mother’s house still rings in her ears. Maybe she should have left her engagement ring there too. It’s probably morally wrong to still have it tucked away in her memory box at home - along with some other treasures from their relationship. A polaroid photo of their road trip to Vegas, a painting of him that she did on a sheet of paper, a restaurant receipt, a movie stub - amongst other things.

“At least visiting hours are over now. You can just get back to your life.” Harper smiles reassuringly.

 _Her life_. Clarke isn’t sure she’s even living that anymore. She’s an imposter, living out someone else’s fantasy of being engaged to the perfect guy. But Cillian’s not the perfect guy - not to her, anyway. Maybe that’s telling enough. But the one who is has left her behind a long time ago.

He’s not an option anymore.

* * *

The following day, Harper saunters into Clarke’s office like a woman on a mission.

She’s wearing the biggest shit-eating grin as she takes a seat in front of Clarke, a folded brochure in her hand. Clarke pauses in the middle of an article she was typing for tomorrow’s publication, her eyes even on Harper.

“What?” she deadpans.

Harper takes the opening, slapping the brochure in front of Clarke. She glances down at the navy booklet, taking in her name on the front.

“What’s this?”

“A personal invitation.” Harper is barely containing her delight. “You must have made quite the impression during your interview.”

Clarke finally opens it, reading about the charity gala that apparently Bellamy Blake is hosting this weekend. Her heart lodges somewhere in her throat. It’s being held at Ark Gallery, all funds donated to _Hope_ , a service that helps children in neglectful or abusive homes.

She stares at the brochure, her mind racing. The first thought that comes to her head is that he’s using his platform, like she said during the interview. He’s going to use his voice and make people aware, highlight the issues instead of just throwing money at charities. He’ll rally people behind the cause, make them care. The second thought is about _where_ he’s hosting it. An art house where people will buy paintings and support local artists - something that she was always passionate about.

Clarke was an obsessive painter and loved to talk mindlessly about galleries like these, how it’s so important for beginning artists to get recognised. She even submitted a few pieces herself over the years but it’s so hard to get recognised without your name being out there. Bellamy is giving others a chance to do just that, all for a noble cause. He let it slip to Cillian last week that she used to paint too, so clearly he hasn’t forgotten about her hobby.

Clarke swallows thickly, knowing that every single piece of this gala is inspired by her. And now, she has a front row invite.

She looks up at Harper, who is smirking so big that her face might crack. “He must like you.”

Clarke coughs to gain some power in her voice, but even then, it still comes out cracked.

“Well...” She pauses, considering it. Then, decides against it. “We were friends. In high school.”

Harper’s eyes widen. “You went to school with the infamous millionaire of Seattle?”

“Yeah,” she admits. God, if only she knew the whole story. “It’s how I was able to get the interview.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Harper asks with a smile, clearly dying to know more juicy details.

Clarke shrugs, hoping it comes off nonchalant. “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Not important?” Harper shrieks. “Tell me everything. Was he that handsome in school?”

Clarke spends the rest of the afternoon wrapping herself up in this lie, pretending that Bellamy Blake was nothing but an old friend. Unfortunately, though, lies only stay hidden for so long. They’re spoken as elegantly as a swan, diving its head underwater to feed. But lies, like a swan, must always resubmerge for air.

The lie inhales rich oxygen the next morning when Harper delivers something else to her desk: headlines on every newspaper in the city.

“Oh Clarke Griffin.” Harper shoots her a teasing smirk. “Have you got some explaining to do.”

In big block letters, the newspaper in front of her reads: “ _Bellamy Blake, The Mystery Behind The Man_.” It follows up with a lengthy article, sprinkled with words like “highschool sweethearts”, “a whirlwind marriage,” and finally, “divorce”.

Then, there’s two individual pictures of Clarke and Bellamy, taken at different times by paparazzis. Her one was taken just last night on her way out of the office. She’s dressed in a professional black dress and a blazer, her head tilted over her shoulder - the paps got a nice candid shot.

Bellamy is looking down in his one, photographed in an expensive suit coming out of a restaurant downtown. It was clearly a business lunch, considering the man beside him is holding a bunch of papers, still showing them to Bellamy on the way out of the building. Bellamy has his suit jacket off and thrown over his shoulder, held onto by just two fingers. His white shirt almost shines in the photo and even amongst Clarke’s numbness, she notices how good he looks.

She glances up at Harper, her heart racing. There’s no doubt in her mind that her complexion has faded to a pale white. Fuck, it’s out in the open.

“Wait.” Harper gapes at her. “Clarke, is this _true_?”

Clarke gets up quickly and rounds her desk, shoving the door closed behind Harper. The other journalists and assistants in the main office outside her door are already poking their heads around their cubicles, hushing their voices and whispering about the headlines.

“Okay.” Clarke breathes, pacing. “Okay. Shit.”

“Oh my God.” Harper lifts the newspaper again, scanning it. “Oh my God! You used to be _married_?”

“Sshh!” Clarke shushes her, eyes wide.

“Oh come on!” Harper almost laughs. “Really? Are you afraid someone will hear _me_ when this is plastered on every tabloid in the city right now?”

“This is so bad.” Clarke rubs her temples, returning to her swivel chair and collapsing on it.

“Why is it bad?” Harper sits down too, still reading. “Why would you not just say anything?”

“Because.” Clarke grabs the paper out of her hands, pointing to her life being displayed all over it. “ _This_ is what would have happened. What _has_ happened.”

Harper watches her warily, curiosity etched into every inch of her face. She flicks her long curls over her shoulder. “But it did happen? It’s not shameful to get divorced.”

“It’s not about shame.” Clarke sighs, leaving the paper on her desk and flopping back in her chair. “Bellamy and I, we left that behind us. It’s not something either of us like talking about. It’s...it’s too painful.”

Harper tilts her head sympathetically. “Clarke, God...I’m so sorry.”

“It wouldn’t have been such a big deal if he wasn’t who he is now.” She gestures towards the paper, a very handsome looking Bellamy plastered all over it. “But because of his status, every media outlet in the city is going to be broadcasting this everywhere, forcing us to relive it all.”

Harper shakes her head, picking back up the paper on her desk. “I didn’t even think about it that way. How did it get out?”

Clarke blows out a breath. “I have no idea. People back in LA wouldn’t know about Bellamy now. Hell, I didn’t find out he was CEO of Kane Enterprises until ALIE’s magazine release.”

“So it was nobody from school?”

“I doubt it.” Clarke chews her bottom lip. “A couple of old friends are living in Seattle but they’re close with Bellamy, they wouldn’t leak it. Not now, not after all this time.”

Harper nods in time with her story, her eyes as kind as ever.

“He has a sister, too,” Clarke adds on. “But Octavia - she would never do this. Especially when she knows how much Bellamy wanted to keep it out of the press.”

“Well, it's a prized scandal for the media now,” Harper says regretfully.

“I asked him about the divorce in the interview,” Clarke remembers, the memory tugging at her heart. He was testing her, challenging her about it. And well, if he was going to bring it up, she was going to play the game. “I didn’t print it, but he probably thinks I told someone.”

“I hate to say it, Clarke-” Harper grimaces. “But, would Cillian have said anything?”

Oh, fuck. Oh God. She lets her head fall into her hands, groaning. Fuck, she forgot about Cillian.

“Oh no,” Harper murmurs. “Was it him?”

“No,” Clarke muffles out through her fingers. “Because I never told him.”

She hears the disappointment in Harper’s tone before she even talks. “Oh, Clarke.”

Okay, yes, it wasn’t her smartest move. She never intended on talking about it but then again, she never thought she’d be living in the same city as her ex-husband ten years later. When they ran into him then, Cillian was so jealous. He already had his back up about Bellamy and they’ve argued about him more than once. She wasn’t about to throw that fact into the mix as well.

Harper flicks the paper out, running her eyes over the pictures again. “Well. He knows now.”

The sound of the office phone ringing cuts through their conversation, making them both jump. Clarke hits the speaker, allowing the receptionist’s voice to echo into the office.

“Clarke, I have a Bellamy Blake on line two for you.”

Harper’s eyes snap to hers and silence drapes over the room. Fuck. A knot forms in the centre of her stomach and her pulse starts skipping. Harper nods encouragingly, straightening her posture on the chair. Clarke takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly.

“Put him through.”

In less time than Clarke would have liked to prepare, Bellamy’s gravelly voice comes through the speaker.

“Clarke?”

She swallows, glancing at Harper before she answers. “Yeah, hi.”

“I’m assuming you’ve seen the papers?”

Clarke fiddles with a paperclip on her desk, running her fingers over the smooth plastic for something to do with her hands. “Just before you called. Still wrapping my head around it.”

She hears him sigh at the other end of the phone, then footsteps. He’s pacing, like he always does when he’s stressed.

“So it wasn’t you?”

She huffs out a humorous breath. “I had my chance to out us, Bigshot. And improve my career at the same time. What would be in it for me now?”

Bellamy chuckles, the rough tone of it almost vibrating through the speaker. Clarke bites back a smirk, always pleased to make him smile, but she’s also aware that Harper is watching this interaction very carefully.

“Well, expect a lot of attention from the press,” he warns. “The vultures have been outside my office all day.”

“Paps?”

“Yep,” he says on his exhale. “And journalists. I’ve had more interview requests than ever.”

Clarke winces, knowing her office probably has someone down there. Which means someone is definitely preparing to approach her here. She purses her lips, feeling absolutely wretched. Bellamy has enough heat from the media on a normal day without their baggage emerging.

“I’m really sorry.”

“Princess.” She can almost hear his smirk through the phone. “What are you sorry for?”

Clarke takes a breath, scrubbing her hair back with her fingers. “For the marriage.”

If she hadn’t been so impulsive, none of this would be happening right now. Bellamy wouldn’t have to worry about dirty laundry becoming public knowledge and he could just get on with his life, free to be successful without the drama.

“I’m not,” he murmurs. Clarke shifts her eyes towards Harper again who has her eyebrows lifted and a cute smile on her lips. “Besides, I’m the one that should be sorry. I’m the reason this is being blown up the way it is.”

Just then, a button on her phone turns red and a beep comes through, indicating she has another call waiting. The button indicates that it’s line one, meaning it’s her boss.

“Sorry, Bellamy, I have an incoming call and I have to take it,” she says regretfully, her head still spinning.

“Okay, well if I text you my address, will you come over this evening?” he asks quickly. “We need a plan on how we’re going to handle this.”

“Yeah, sure,” Clarke hears herself agreeing, not really stopping to consider if it’s a good idea to be going to her ex-husbands home or not. “Avoid the press until then?”

“If you can,” he asks somewhat sheepishly, like he’s placing some great burden on her. “Thanks, Princess.”

She smiles softly, nostalgia blooming in her heart at the nickname. “Bye, Bell.”

Harper just gazes at her and Clarke knows she has something smug prepared. Clarke points at her, a light warning behind her tone. “Don’t even.”

Her friend holds up her hands in surrender. She’s full on grinning now. “Wasn’t gonna say a thing.”

Clarke rolls her eyes playfully, knowing her friend was about to comment about the undercurrent of flirtation on that phone call, the one that seems to flow through their conversations all the time. She presses the call waiting button and Diyoza’s voice, sharp and direct, cuts into the room.

“Griffin, my office in ten minutes.”

Harper’s gleeful expression transforms into a wince. Clarke blows out a long breath. This is going to be a long day.

* * *

Clarke fixes her hair in the reflective walls of the elevator taking her up to Bellamy’s. She finger combs the knots of the day from her curls before wiping any stray mascara away from her under eyes. She hopes she looks alright, wearing a tasteful black dress that’s cut finely around her collarbones. Her heels are killing her after walking around in them all day but she can’t complain - they make her legs look longer.

She tuts, shaking her head and folding her arms. God, her appearance is a stupid thing to be worrying about. Bellamy has seen her first thing in the morning before she ever applied any makeup - he kissed her anyway. He’s seen her so ill that she had to hug the toilet bowl for the day - he held her hair back for her anyway. He’s seen her in pain, emotionally raw, happy, excited, free - he loved her anyway.

Fuck. What is she doing? If she cared more about that ring on her finger than what she looked like, it would be more in her line. She shouldn’t be concerned about what Bellamy thinks of her anymore. She exhales sharply, composing herself.

The route over here was tough because paparazzi stormed her the second she left work. She had to drive around a few different blocks to make sure she wasn’t being followed and even when she got to the address Bellamy sent her, she parked down the street and had to improvise on getting into the building. People were leaning against cars outside, cameras in hand as if they were waiting for something like this to happen - for Clarke to show up and give them a juicy shot.

She ducked into an adjacent alleyway and jogged around the back. Luckily, Bellamy had text her about this and informed her that the garage door was a little insecure. She managed to wiggle it open and enter through there undetected. Once in the elevator, all she had to do was enter in the private code he gave her and it delivered her to the top floor.

The door in front of her pings and opens, allowing her to step inside Bellamy’s penthouse. Her mouth pops open a little when she looks around at the details, finer than she’s ever grown up with. It’s all marble and tall windows, displaying the twinkling skyline of Seattle at night.

A long way from his mother’s house back in California. That place barely had a functioning microwave. They used to have to hit it a few times before it would turn on. But God, it was Clarke’s favourite place in the entire world. It was her escape and it reminded her of Bellamy at every corner. She doesn’t recognise any piece of him here.

She winds her way through the hallway which leads her into an open plan apartment. The walls are practically made of windows, the dark sky outside looking back at her. The kitchen is to the left and the living room to the right, the couches and armchairs surrounding a large coffee table. They’re situated right next to the windows, allowing the sitter to take in the city’s view with comfort.

Clarke hears Bellamy before she sees him. He’s out on the balcony, the crisp night air pouring in through the penthouse. He’s pacing with his phone pressed to his ear, a frown on his face. The lights out there illuminate his tense form.

“That isn’t the point and you know it, Echo.”

Clarke pauses, stopping herself from interrupting. She was just going to let him know she was here, especially because she never gave him a time for her arrival. It’s never certain what time she’d get out of the office. This conversation doesn’t sound friendly though, so she gives him the space to finish.

“I directly told you I didn’t want this in the press,” he snaps.

 _Oh_. Echo was the one who leaked it? Fuck. She steps backwards even further, sinking out of view. She can still see Bellamy, though. He’s still in his work attire: suit pants and a white shirt. The top two buttons are opened now though and his hair is chaotic, like he’s been pulling at the curls. The wind outside blows through them now, only adding to the tangles.

“Yeah but you’re not the one who has to deal with all this damn _glory_ , as you put it.” He scoffs, kicking his shoes against the ground below him. “It sounds a lot to me like you’re just retaliating because I didn’t tell you straight away.”

For some reason, that makes Clarke feel a little better. He didn’t tell Echo either. They’re either both hideous people or just both cut from the same cloth. At least he came clean before the press release though, he has that in his favour.

“If you’re going to be like that then don’t bother. I don’t want you there.”

Clarke pinches her brow, wondering what the other half of that conversation is like.

“Fine.”

Bellamy pulls the phone away from his ear harshly, ending the call. He blows out an angry breath, squeezing his phone between his fist. Clarke’s heart almost cracks right there and then. She hates that he’s going this, all because of their fucking history.

“Bellamy?” she calls out, pretending that she’s just arrived.

He blinks, tucking away his phone. She notices how his shoulders visibly relax and an easy smile turns his lips up.

“Clarke. Hey.”

He comes back inside, closing the door behind him. She beams at him automatically but both of them stand around awkwardly, unsure of the appropriate way to greet one another. It’s like they don’t know how to be around each other without being how they used to be. Bellamy ends up gesturing towards the sitting area, looking just as thrown as she is.

“Did you get here okay?” he asks as they sit down opposite one another on two separate armchairs.

“Yeah, a few paps around but I don’t think they spotted me coming here.”

She crosses her legs, trying to ignore the way her heart skips when she sees Bellamy’s eyes drop to them. He schools himself quickly though.

“Good.” He nods his head. “Good.”

Another palpable silence stretches out between them and Clarke twirls her engagement ring around her finger. She needs to stay focused because she’s afraid of what she’d do or say if she let her emotions run away with her.

“Do you want a drink?” he offers, standing abruptly and making his way over to his large fridge in the kitchen. “White, yeah? Chardonnay?”

She opens her mouth to say yes, heat flushing her cheeks that he remembers what she likes. But she decides against it, figuring she needs to keep her wits about her.

“No, thank you though,” she tells him as he pours himself a glass of Jack. “I can’t stay long, I still need to talk to Cillian about all of this.”

A muscle in Bellamy’s jaw ticks but when he turns around, his face gives nothing away. “You didn’t tell him about us?”

Clarke shakes her head, guilt consuming her again. He had called her all day but she never answered. This wasn’t a conversation to have with him over the phone. He’s working late tonight but once she’s done here, she’ll head home and have a couple of hours to prepare herself for what she’s going to say to him.

“I’m so sorry, Clarke,” he sighs out, coming back to his seat. “Echo, she…” He shakes his head, disgust twisting his lips. “I’m just-”

Before she can even think about it, she leans forward and takes his hand. “Bellamy. It’s okay.”

His eyes are fine tuned on Clarke’s hand for a second before drifting up to her face. The moment turns fragile in an instant, like either of them moving will crack some kind of resolve they’re both holding onto. There’s a shallow hole under her diaphragm, burning her from the inside out. Tingles erupt on the back of her neck because her ex-husband looking at her like this is too intense. Those eyes she used to know so well stare right at her, the black in there growing slowly to swallow up all the brown.

Clarke pulls her hand away quickly and both of them sit back, straightening their posture. Bellamy clears his throat but the first word out of his mouth trips over his lips anyway.

“I think we should try and keep a low profile for a while.”

Any tension between them evaporates as a slow, knowing smile comes onto her lips. “You have a gala this weekend.”

He huffs out a laugh like it caught him by surprise. “Yeah, good point. Well, maybe if we just say no comment if we’re asked about the headlines.”

“I don’t have to go, you know,” she offers.

He tilts his head at her. “You’re the reason why it’s happening.”

Her heart completely stops for a second. She has to remind herself to breathe. She shrugs airily. “I just made a suggestion about using your platform.”

“Well, you’re getting your way,” he quips. “As usual.”

“Very funny.” She smirks. “The location was nicely chosen.”

He takes a sip of his whiskey, sucking his lips after the mouthful. Clarke tries to keep her eyes away from that. “I just know how much it meant to you when we were living back home.”

God, what is he doing to her? She’s barely composing herself as it is. And it’s impossible that he’s not feeling this too, this electricity fizzling between them. It only seems to get stronger every time they meet, like some frayed wire searching for ignition. She has to shake herself.

“My boss wants full coverage of this,” she confesses, reciting what Diyoza told her in her office. “She wants an exclusive with you and said if anybody can get it, it’s me - given the nature of the scandal.”

Bellamy twirls the glass around in his hand, his eyes still on her. “You really want this all brought to light?”

“Well, no,” Clarke admits. She doesn’t want to relive the pain of their split any more than he does. “I just thought it would be easier for you if things were upfront. The vultures would get their information, talk about it for a few days and then move onto the next big thing.”

“Gossip isn’t really my thing.”

“It’s not gossip.” She nudges his leg with the tip of her heel. “It’s honesty.”

“Spoken like a true journalist,” he teases.

She pushes one shoulder up to her chin and his eyes flutter down, like he’s trying to retain some composure himself.

“I’m just saying, rip the bandaid and it’ll all be over for you.”

“And what about you?” he asks, his voice deep and shiver inducing. “They’ll haunt you for information.”

“I can handle myself,” she assures him.

The look he shoots in her direction sends a thrill through her entire body. “I don’t doubt that, Princess.”

She can’t look away this time. An ache grows in her gut, her breathing shallow. She takes in every single freckle on his face, the way his sharp jawline moves when he takes a drink from his glass and how his golden skin contrasts against his white shirt. Fuck.

She rises suddenly, needing to leave before she does anything stupid. “I should go.”

Bellamy stands with her, placing his glass on the coffee table in front of him. At this level, she can really see their height difference. He’s still a good few inches taller than her, even in heels. She swallows thickly, hoping the flush isn’t obvious on her face from flirting with her ex-husband - something she definitely shouldn’t be doing.

The guilt pours over her like cold water, her internal voice chastising her for being so utterly reckless. She can’t do this with him, not when they’re both very much involved with other people.

Bellamy rubs his palms against his thighs, coughing like maybe sense is sobering him too.

“I’ll walk you out.”

* * *

When Clarke closes her apartment door behind her, she flicks off her heels with a groan. It was a long day and apparently, about to get even longer.

She looks up, spotting Cillian across the living room, sitting at their adjoining kitchen island with a half full bottle of wine and a glass. There’s another bottle perched on the sink behind him, except that one is completely empty. Clarke’s stomach twists a little, especially upon seeing the scowl on his face.

“I thought you were working late,” she murmurs.

Clarke doesn’t miss how his body sways a little when he tips his glass back to take a gulp. He’s been at this a while.

“I got off early,” he responds, shoving a newspaper across the island at her. Even from her distance away, she can see hers and Bellamy’s paparazzi picture on it. “You weren’t answering my calls.”

Clarke walks across to the fridge before approaching him, taking out a bottle of water. The lights are soft in the kitchen so she hopes the nerves on her face aren’t obvious.

“I didn’t think it was a conversation we should have over the phone.”

She unscrews the cap, taking a sip as she turns around. Cillian’s eyes are narrowed at her, his shoulders hunched.

“Well, I went to your office to talk properly but you weren’t there,” he snaps. “And then you weren’t at home, either. So where were you?”

Clarke purses her lips. Fuck, this is going to sound bad in light of everything.

“I was at Bellamy’s. We-”

Cillian barks out a dark laugh, a scoff mixed in there somewhere too. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She takes a long breath, stepping towards him. The island lies in the middle of them and she braces her hip against it, trying to slow her heart rate down. She puts her bottle of water down on the marble top, at a loss of what to do with her hands now.

“It’s not what you think. The press have been all over this all day, we needed a plan.”

“One that couldn’t be discussed over the phone?”

She sighs, knowing that she could have easily come home and just called Bellamy back. There was no reason why she absolutely had to go over to his place tonight and maybe she should have thought twice about it. That was the problem though, she wasn’t really thinking all of it through.

“Look, Cillian-”

“I just don’t understand why you felt the need to hide all of this from me,” he cuts her off, talking too much with his hands for comfort. The frustration is bubbling out of him.

“I didn’t hide it,” she points out. “I just don’t talk about it.”

“We’re engaged to be married, Clarke. And you were just going to let that happen without telling me you’ve done it before?”

“It’s complicated,” Clarke admits. “We were kids. And I’m not obligated to share every single thing about my past.”

“You are if you want to marry me,” he bites out.

She hates how he’s looking at her, like he’s spent the entire day soaking in anger, absorbing it more and more like a sponge until he’s saturated in it. They shouldn’t be having this conversation like this, especially not when he’s this drunk. She can’t exactly stop it now though or he’d surely blow a fuse.

He pushes away from the island, grabbing the bottle of wine and pouring himself a top up on his way. “I knew there was something going on between the two of you.”

“Nothing is going on,” she assures him, although even she can taste the lie in that.

She can’t ignore the chemistry between her and Bellamy. They might not have physically done anything but she wonders if thinking inappropriate things counts as dishonesty towards Cillian. More than likely, she imagines.

“You were married.”

“ _Were_ being the prominent word in that sentence.”

“I see how he looks at you,” he growls, taking up way too much space with his movements. His arms fly out, gesturing at the thick, tension soaked air around them.

Clarke straightens. “Cillian, you’re drunk.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbles, finding his way towards the fridge. He tears down the gala brochure from where it was pinned on by a magnet and waves it at her. “This is hardly still going ahead?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” she asks. “It’s a charity event.”

“Run by _him_ ,” he snarls. Clarke blinks, a little uneasy. She’s never seen Cillian like this before. “He’ll just attract the press to himself.”

“That has nothing got to do with donating money to a good cause.”

His lips curl up in disgust as he stumbles back towards the island, standing a few feet from her now. “So admirable, isn’t he?”

“Cillian-”

“Well, we’re not going.”

She recoils, staring at him. “Excuse me?”

He enunciates each word carefully. “We are _not_ going.”

She searches his face, trying to figure out if he’s serious or not. “You know, the last time someone tried to tell me what to do, our relationship ended up very broken.”

Cillian huffs out a laugh. “Who? Bellamy?”

“My mother.”

He should know that more than anyone. The way she behaves with Clarke, acting like she can be ruler of her life and every decision in it just because she birthed her - it’s a joke. It caused their bond to fracture and separate. Now the bridge between them is so wide, it might never be mended.

“Don’t twist this, Clarke.”

Clarke and Cillian have argued before, but not like this. It unnerves her and to be honest, drives a larger wedge into the doubts she was already having about them. Jealousy doesn’t suit him, even if he has every right to be upset.

“I’m not twisting anything.” She automatically pulls against getting bossed around, a primal reaction as a result of her upbringing. “But I’m going to that gala this weekend, whether you’re joining me or not.”

Cillian lashes out, striking her bottle of water on the island and knocking it across the room. When he speaks again, his volume almost shatters the glass in their windows.

“ _I don’t want you seeing him anymore_!”

Clarke is frozen to the spot, her eyes steady and wide on her fiancé. He’s out of control. She clears her throat, taking a step back from him. He’s breathing heavily, some kind of venom pouring out of his features. Her voice is now stuck firmly in her throat. She doesn’t dare to speak, her previous determination cowed into silence. He clearly isn’t satisfied with her lack of response because he fires his wine glass onto the island, as if to elaborate on his statement and add dramatic effect. It skids across the marble, shattering on its way. Pieces of glass and wine fly everywhere and Clarke gasps as she jumps away.

She looks from the broken glass to him, her breath caught in her chest. The resulting silence is deafening.

“I hope I’ve made myself clear,” he murmurs after a moment.

Clarke takes a shaky breath but her eyes are steady, resentment already simmering under her skin. “Oh, you’ve made yourself crystal clear.”

She sees him in completion now - _all_ of him. He nods, grabbing his phone from the counter.

“I’m staying at the Shallow Valley hotel, you can find me there when you’re ready to apologise.”

“ _You’ll be waiting a long time_ ,” she thinks, but doesn’t dare say it out loud. Not when he’s so close to leaving. She doesn’t want to keep him here.

As the front door bangs closed behind him, she shudders out a long breath. Her hand flies to her mouth, trying to contain the sob that tries to emerge. It’s a mixture of the argument and the relief of him leaving but the sudden burst of emotion takes her by surprise. She breathes in and out a few times and tips her head back, forcing in the tears away that are slipping out.

Fuck. She knew he’d be upset and that was fair enough - she didn’t expect him to be okay with the fact that she didn’t tell him or even understand why. She just wanted them to have a calm conversation about it, which was never going to happen when he was that wound up about it all. He let his jealousy overpower that argument and now, there’s no going back from it. Even if she was in the wrong.

She chews on her bottom lip and blinks herself into action. She moves carefully around the pieces of broken glass that fell onto the floor and grabs the dustpan and brush from her cabinet. It’s not until she’s sweeping up the mess Cillian left that she notices the blood dripping from her elbow.

“Shit,” she mutters, grabbing a paper towel from the counter.

She hisses when she presses it against her wound on the back of her forearm, figuring a piece of glass must have sliced her when it shattered. Her adrenaline is still pumping so she doesn’t even feel it. Although she probably will tomorrow.

God, how have things gotten so messed up? Maybe she should have told Cillian about Bellamy from the very start. She thought she had a right to keep that to herself but maybe it did more harm than good. Cillian is normally a decent guy, calm and collected - maybe she just pushed him to his breaking point?

She shakes her head, refusing to think any more about this tonight. Her heart rate has only started to resume a normal pace now and it doesn’t serve her to make her stomach sick about this anymore.

Still, when she eventually retires to bed, she can’t help but let her thoughts wander to Bellamy - as usual. They never argued like that. The man she married would kick Cillian’s ass all over town if he knew about tonight. It’s sabotaging thoughts but she lets herself indulge anyway.

Clarke meant what she said to Cillian - telling her what to do will only break them even further. Her mother ruined any chance of a relationship with her by constantly berating her marriage. What she didn’t realise was the more she prodded, the more Clarke pulled away. It was Bellamy she was getting to though, worming inside his head until so many doubts were created that it shattered them.

Bellamy thinks they ended because of lack of maturity - or so he told Clarke in their interview. No, it was lack of confidence on his part, lack of faith in himself. They were always going to end, simply because Bellamy didn’t believe he deserved her. That would always force destruction on any relationship.

He swore Abby was always interfering, which she was. What he failed to notice was Clarke never listened to her. She never lived for her mother’s opinions, never cared for them. As a result of the intrusion, Clarke leaned more in while Bellamy withdrew. He became hard to live with, berating himself every time a utility was cut off or whenever he couldn’t afford to treat Clarke the way he wanted to. All she wanted was him. She didn’t need fancy date nights or even a working television. When the electricity got cut off or when the heating ran out, she’d gladly sit in the dark with him under a duvet, looking after one another and Octavia.

The more he pulled away, though, so did she. She couldn’t force him to have that belief in their relationship, no matter how many times she told him how she felt and how little she cared about any of that superficial crap. He was battling his own demons, ones he could only help himself with. He created arguments out of nowhere - but no matter when they fought, she never felt unsafe. She never felt like she did tonight with Cillian.

Clarke doesn’t know how she got here, so lost and so fucking confused. She blows all of the air out of her lungs, succumbing to the heaviness that’s pulling at her eyes. She falls asleep, hating that the only time she ever feels like herself anymore is when Bellamy is looking right at her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning:** Cillian has a heated argument with Clarke and throws a couple of things. She ends up getting cut from a piece of glass by accident.
> 
> If you haven't already, please check out [this](https://underbellamy.tumblr.com/post/641866962462441472/bellarke-fanfiction-dedication-paper-planes-by) amazing edit for this fic by Bri (@underbellamy). It's so incredible and I love her too much.
> 
> A special thank you to Essie for running [Bellarke January Joy](https://bellarkejanuaryjoy.tumblr.com) again this year.
> 
> A permanent shoutout to Ciara (icantloseyou-too) who is my biggest support system with most fics. I'd be lost without her.
> 
> You can find me both on [tumblr](http://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100). As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated 💛
> 
> You can find the [aesthetic](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/641829500362145792/paper-planes-a-bellarke-modern-au-chapter-%C2%BD) for this fic here.


	3. Saudade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy the last chapter.
> 
>  _Saudade:_ a nostalgic longing to be near again to something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; "the love that remains"

Bellamy has never been good at standing still.

He’s fidgeting with his champagne coup, transferring it from one hand to the other as he takes in the bodies around the art house below him. Some of them are important figures, others are artists that just want their work to be recognised tonight. There’s a sense of excitement in the air, a euphoria that comes from a passion such as this one.

Bellamy lets a hand rest on the bannister, the cold metal grounding him during his restlessness. Peering down onto the ground floor, he has a good view of all the pieces on auction. He’s never had a keen eye for art like his ex-wife but even he can admit, they’re pretty beautiful.

In his mind, he tries to tell himself that he’s anxious over his speech, that the anticipation of this entire night is getting to him. The gala has a good crowd turnout and it’s making him nervous. Deep down, he knows that’s not the case. He’s waiting to see _her_.

He takes a sip of his champagne and tugs on his tie before reminding himself to just relax. When they were in school, the itch was unbearable under Bellamy’s skin, waiting for the bell to ring between classes. He’d spend the time kicking Clarke’s chair in front of him, desperate for her attention. It only earned him the most vicious scowl because she enjoyed learning. That was only when she was in class, though. As she proved time and time again, she never minded skipping subjects to make out with him.

They were the moments he lived for. The thrill inbetween the dull, the ones that got his heart racing. He realises just how unappreciative he was. That’s the thing with nostalgia, it allows people to look back on a memory with full scope, rather than just through tunnel vision. Because what he didn’t realise back then was that the time he considered idle and unimportant was the most vital of all. It gave him the opportunity to just be around Clarke. He yearns for that now that he’s older. Time to just sit, appreciate and wonder at her - instead of fleeting moments here and there.

A spokesperson for the charity interrupts his thoughts and to be honest, he’s glad of it. He’s spent too long stuck in his own head the last few days. After Clarke left his apartment that night, his heart didn’t quieten for hours. It was pounding, almost forcing him to call her and ask her to come back. He couldn’t do that, though. He needed to have some resolve.

He feels her rather than sees her when Clarke walks into Ark Gallery. The hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention and when he looks down to the front door, she’s there, looking around the art house. Bellamy can only presume it’s self preservation that makes him snap his head away, take a breath and compose himself before he goes down to greet her. Otherwise, the feeling inside his chest that he felt only with a mere glance at her would consume him, destroy him and force him to do something very stupid, very quickly.

The voice inside his head counts his steps on the way down the staircase and the rest of him focuses on his breathing. _Slow and steady_. Bellamy knows from that split glance at her that she’s looking amazing. He’s still not ready when he sees her up close.

She’s wearing a white, figure hugging dress with a belt around her waist and a cute grey blazer around her shoulders. Her bright blonde curls shake when she turns to look at him and she just sends his heart spiraling. The biggest smile comes onto her face like an instinct before she seems to tame it back a little.

“Bellamy.”

She extends her hand for him to shake. He almost furrows his brow at her, bursts out laughing at the formality. That’s when he notices the press out front. Right. This mess.

He takes Clarke’s hand but releases it just as quick, nodding at her before skimming the crowd of paparazzi and journalists again. He strictly forbade any of them coming in tonight, being very clear that this event is for a good cause - not for his personal life. They’re still flashing their cameras at them though, trying to get something good through the glass doors.

“Clarke.”

He gestures for her to come into the gallery even deeper and she follows his lead. Like habit, he almost guides her with his hand on her lower back but he thinks better of it. That would be too good a shot for the vultures to manipulate into something it isn’t. Or is. Whatever.

“Nice suit,” she murmurs as they walk. “Armani?”

“Tom Ford,” he replies with a tight smile, still in view of the press.

She raises her eyebrows like she has something smug to say but instead, she just bites back her smirk and continues walking. They round the corner, passing people that Bellamy works with and end up in front of a very large painting that draws Clarke’s eye straight away.

“Wow,” she breathes, shoulders already loosened now that they’re away from prying eyes. “The pieces here are amazing.”

Bellamy can’t take his eyes off her. His voice has dropped an octave when it comes out, heavy and rough. “I’ll give you a tour later.”

She refocuses on him, a more genuine smile on her lips now than before. His heart almost stops when she reaches out, smoothing out the lapel on his navy suit. “You look good.”

Forcing out words through a dry throat is extremely difficult, he realizes. The smell of Clarke’s hair makes him dizzy, the scent of jasmine and lavender filling him up. When her eyes move up to his, it makes his mouth reconnect with his head.

“You too,” he chokes out, voice still shot to hell. His gaze is heavy on her when he checks her out. “More beautiful than any painting here.”

She blushes subtly, so slight that he might have imagined it, barely containing her obvious delight at being complimented by him. It’s not a lie. She’s making his mind wander to dark places, dangerous grounds that he shouldn't be venturing into at all.

Luckily, a waiter passes with a tray full of champagne and Bellamy grabs two coups on his way, giving one to Clarke and a fresh one for himself. It saves him. She takes it eagerly, drinking a large gulp before crossing her arm across herself.

“The turn out is amazing,” she moves on. “Are you nervous?”

He stares at her, his eyes heavy on her lips. “Terrified.”

God, that’s an understatement. He doesn’t have enough self control for this, not around Clarke. When she looks like that and makes his chest constrict, he doesn’t trust himself with what he’ll do.

“You’ll do great,” she assures him, clearly assuming it’s about his speech. “Just keep your head focused and it’ll be fine.”

_How is that even possible right now?_

He takes another sip of his champagne, not stopping to think better of drinking too much around her or what it’d do to his inhibitions. Their eyes connect again and he knows he’s not imagining the blush that comes onto her cheeks this time.

She flutters her eyes down for a moment before looking back up, retreating back into safer territory. “No Echo tonight?”

Bellamy almost scoffs but he manages to stop himself. “No, thought it was best if she didn’t come.”

That’s putting it lightly. He _told_ her not to come tonight, couldn’t even face looking at her. It’s not like she’s tried either. She hasn’t reached out at all since their argument and more to the point, didn’t apologise. On the phone that night, she didn’t even sound regretful about leaking their divorce to the media. As easy as she can be, Bellamy finds he’s starting to see the side of her that Octavia was talking about. She’s cold, unattached and a little selfish.

“I’m sorry, Bellamy.” Clarke winces, those smoky eyes of hers soft - just for him.

He shrugs it off, swirling his champagne around his glass. “No Cillian?”

It only strikes him now that she’s alone. Her rugged fiancé is nowhere to be seen. Clarke’s face changes ever so subtly but Bellamy catches it - the way she goes blank behind the eyes, the way her teeth dig into the inside of her lip.

“No.”

That’s all the information she gives, her eyes tight and her smile forced on for show. He observes how she drops the arm that isn’t holding her glass, tucking it behind her back like a nervous habit.

“No?” Bellamy scans her. “I take it the talk didn’t go too well?”

This time, he definitely notices her face change. Her eyes shift from him to the room around them, occupying herself. Her jaw tightens and even though her faltering is only for a second, it’s long enough for Bellamy to know that the press release of their marriage definitely put a strain on her and Cillian’s relationship.

“You could say that,” she mumbles.

They’re interrupted when Raven, Murphy and Octavia bound over to them, cheering and smiling at Clarke’s arrival. She gets swept up in reuniting with them again and Bellamy gets swept up in watching her. She really is amazing. The way she smiles makes his stomach clench, fond memories pouring over him. More than that, when she looks at him, he thinks the world ends and restarts in those moments. Especially when it’s time to give his speech to the room. She never takes her eyes off him.

He talks about how important the cause is to him and how he felt inspired to do more than just throw his money at these things - but to ensure people knew exactly what was happening beyond their own bubbles. He also talks about the artists here and how much of a struggle it is to get recognised, something he knows from experience. He watched his ex-wife go through disappointment in the art world for years. Of course, he doesn’t mention that.

Clarke has unshed tears in her eyes, standing beside their old friends with their glasses of champagne. The pride that shines off her is obvious from where he stands behind the podium, and fuck, he can’t take his eyes off her at all.

The tears finally fall from her eyes when Bellamy starts talking about his own experiences with neglect. Octavia does her best to keep the emotion in from her seat beside Clarke, but Bellamy can see that it’s hard for her too. _Hope_ is something that deserves attention and if he can help get their name more recognised, then he’s happy to share this part of his life. The people around the room seem surprised and he knows the press will have it by morning, but that just means the charity will get recognition as well, maybe even further donations.

“I’m so proud of you, big brother.” Octavia presses a kiss to his cheek when he steps down, his speech over and lingering in the ears of everyone around the room.

“Yeah,” Murphy agrees. “Well done. That can’t have been easy.”

“Public speaking isn’t on my list of fears.” He huffs out a laugh, always deflecting.

“But it takes bravery to talk about your own troubles,” Raven argues.

“Give yourself some credit, Bigshot.” Clarke bumps her elbow against his arm, clearly trying to keep everything light, but he can hear the way her voice trembles a little.

Bellamy smiles at her softly, their gazes lingering on one another. For a second, he almost leans forward to press a kiss to her lips - as if it hasn’t been ten years since he’s done that. As if she’s still his wife and he still has those rights. He shakes himself and takes a step away for distance, not trusting himself and the cloud that’s forming over his mind.

The pull between them is getting more difficult to ignore, especially if the way Clarke draws into his gravity is any indication. The more the night goes on, the more they seem to be in each other's space. Every slight brush of their bodies against one another sends a shiver through Bellamy. Every second of eye contact makes him want to abandon all logic and just kiss her. Every lingering gaze makes him more and more certain that she wants this too.

The drinks are flowing and it starts to feel like old times. Stories from high school are bounced around and Bellamy is sure Clarke is going to fall over from laughing. Every time she does though, she checks Bellamy’s face to see if he finds it funny too. Again, an old habit that never really died.

Octavia drifts off to find Lincoln after a while but the conversation still goes on without her. Murphy is mid-story about a party - so long ago that Bellamy can’t even remember. Considering he doesn’t go out that much, Bellamy wonders why that night is so hazy. As interested as he is to hear this one again, his attention gets pulled by his assistant who informs him how many paintings have sold since his speech. Almost all of them.

His heart soars, knowing this has all come together because of Clarke’s encouragement. She’ll be so happy to know that artists had their pieces bought and the charity exceeded the expectation for donations. When he spins to tell her, though, he’s surprised to see her face solemn.

“So, Bellamy was definitely too busy to help me. I ended up having to enlist the help of Ontari - a girl that doesn’t even like me.” Murphy laughs and Raven jabs her fist into his shoulder playfully.

“That wasn’t funny,” she scolds lightheartedly. “My best friend gave me that necklace and you had one job.”

Shit. Bellamy gets caught up very fucking quickly. He’s telling the story of Echo’s birthday last year. The clip on Raven’s necklace had come loose so she asked Murphy to hold onto it for her until she could get it fixed the next day. Finn, an old childhood friend who died, had given it to her, a little metal thing shaped like a raven. Of course, Murphy lost it.

He remembers Murphy telling him how he frantically scoured every inch of the apartment, lifting the couch and searching under all the rugs. Then, he tried to get Bellamy to help him but he swung open the bathroom door to find Echo perched on the sink with Bellamy inside of her. A birthday fuck that couldn’t wait until their guests had left and Bellamy was too drunk to deny her.

He looks over to Clarke who has gone pale, her lips pressed tightly together. Murphy and Raven have their attention focused on one another, arguing the details of the story between themselves, so they don’t notice that Clarke slips away. But Bellamy does.

She fast walks through the crowds of people, zig-zagging so quickly that Bellamy can barely keep up with her.

The bathroom is empty when he follows her in. It’s brightly lit with marble countertop sinks, large mirrors and fancy soaps. The art house isn’t that big, but it’s luxurious enough to have single person bathrooms.

“What’s going on?” he asks lowly - but she doesn’t have to answer for him to know why she took off like that.

Clarke simply stares at him, mute. He turns without taking his eyes off her, locking the door behind them. With each step he takes towards her, his heart stops and restarts. The thing is, he knows what's going to happen here - he knows by the atmosphere between them. He's just too weak to stop it.

He ends up a couple of feet away from her, hands in his pockets.

“Come on, it’s just me,” he says gently. “We won’t be disturbed.”

“I needed some air,” she eventually gets out. “Couldn’t go outside with the paps lurking around.”

“It got pretty intense out there,” he agrees. “I’m sorry. I should have shut Murphy up before it got to that.”

Clarke chews her bottom lip, her hands leaning back against the counter. “Don’t be. It’s just…”

He stares at her, imploring her to go on. “It’s just?”

She sighs quietly in response. “It’s just hard to think about her fucking you like I used to.”

His stomach somersaults. _She’s jealous_. And he can’t really blame her - he feels the exact same when he pictures her with Cillian. It’s enough to make him sick.

“She doesn’t fuck me like you do,” he whispers, watching her reaction. He takes another step towards her before he realises he’s done it. “No one does.”

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he promises.

Echo doesn’t have a patch on Clarke. She’s good in bed and he enjoys her but is he satisfied? No, not when Clarke set such a high standard before. Or maybe he just never fell out of love with her. It’s hard to give yourself to someone in that way when you’re not fully theirs.

Clarke’s chest is rising up and down as if she’s just run a marathon, her hair fluffed up and her eyes already looking half fucked. He knows she’s feeling this too, this pull towards one another. The one that’s always there but seems to be hiked up to full volume tonight. Maybe it’s the alcohol but Bellamy doesn’t even try to hide his gaze drifting down to her lips. She spots it.

“Are you thinking about kissing me?” she murmurs.

“Always, Princess,” he rumbles, not even bothering to disguise the honesty.

She visibly shivers against him, the roughness of his voice obviously affecting her. He read before that having a gravelly voice is an alpha male thing, a primal mechanism built in to lure women to them. Whatever it is, Clarke is weak for it. She always was.

Somehow, they’ve ended up centimeters apart. He can feel her body pressed against his, their lips ghosting over one another. He’s dizzy from her presence and bold from drink - a bad combination.

His eyes are heavy and he’s sure that his pupils are blown black, especially when Clarke’s breathing becomes strained and audibly loud. Hormones and alcohol are starting to shut down the higher part of his brain and he imagines there isn’t much hope for any decent decision right about now.

“Are you going to do something about it?”

Her fingers dance up his bicep, curling in around the collar of his shirt and gripping the back of his neck. Her touch electrifies his skin, sends a live current around his body. He mimics the movement, allowing his large hand to encompass the back of her head, pulling her face so close to his that their lips almost touch - _almost_.

“Ask me,” he demands.

His nose and forehead are pressed against hers, his eyes still fixed on that gorgeous mouth of hers. Her lips are parted, short breaths panting out of them. Having her this close makes his thoughts skip, moulding any moral sentences into unintelligible nonsense.

She gasps out a breath when his fingers grip around the back of her neck even harder. She always liked when he did this, when he was a little rough.

“I want you to do something about it,” she pants. “Please.”

Whatever line they’ve been dancing over before is getting blurred. Restraint is long gone, sense along with it. She’s asking him for it and he can’t think of anything else right now other than giving her what she wants, like always. Something he wants more than anything too, something he denied himself of since their reunion.

In that split second before they connect, every nerve in Bellamy’s body lights up. As close as they are with just their words, the need to feel something tangible between them clearly spills over. He’s not sure who breaks first but they surge towards one another, coming home after ten years apart.

Clarke kisses him just like he remembers, all fire and passion. He returns it just as hard, bringing his whole hand between them to cradle her the area under her chin. It earns him a moan from her, high pitched like he’s burned her with his touch. It adds rocketfuel to this and he shoves her backwards, pinning her against the tiled wall as his tongue explores hers.

She always liked it when he got possessive like this but now, it feels less like a game and more like a need. He can’t help himself.

They’ve crossed this threshold now, there’s no going back. Their kiss was the finish line after a long race, one that they never meant to compete in. It’s been a long time coming. Bellamy’s tongue explores hers, the taste bringing a new form of nostalgia. The more they get absorbed in it, the more he realises how unpreventable this was. He knew it from the second he first saw her in Seattle.

Kissing Clarke is like taking a breath after almost drowning - inevitable and essential. The innate urge to survive is in every human and for Bellamy, his survival is etched into Clarke’s very being.

One of his hands travel down, massaging her breast between his fingers. God, he’s missed her. She’s squirming between his body and the wall, clearly needing something more than he’s giving her. He was always good at reading her body language.

Without much effort, he picks her up and she wraps her legs around his torso for balance. There’s no room for grace here because their movements are fast and hungry. He seats her on the marble counter that holds the sink and her breath stutters, their kisses now sloppy and hard.

She claws desperately at his shirt, raking her fingernails over the fabric. Her moans echo his own, especially when he trails kisses down her neck possessively, a strong desire in him to claim every part of her. Clarke grinds against his center, her short white dress riding high around her waist now.

“Fuck, Princess,” he gets out, his voice completely shot.

He pushes her blazer off her shoulders at the same time she undoes the belt on his pants. Their a fumbling mess of movements, the urge to have one another overpowering their limbs. They move like their time is short, which it probably is.

He watches her pull his pants down for enough access, his eyes heavy and dark. Her chest rises and falls sharply while she works and then they’re kissing again, minutes blending into seconds. Their harsh breaths mix in with their urgency as he runs his hands up her thighs, her breaths coming quicker with each movement.

His fingers connect with where she wants him most and he can’t help the groan that spills out from his throat when he feels how wet she is.

“You’re trying to kill me, Princess,” he rumbles.

She drops her head against his shoulder, all mewls and whimpers as he works her. She’s just as reactive as he remembers and he plays her like an instrument he knows by heart. Muscle memory kicks in and he doesn’t even have to think about it - he knows what she likes.

Clarke balances herself on the counter, pressed against him enough so she doesn’t fall off. Maybe it’s the built-up need for one another or maybe she just hasn’t been touched like this in a long time, but within seconds, she becomes a needy mess.

“Bellamy,” she cries, shifting her hips to meet his movements.

Fuck, he honestly has to hold himself back from coming himself and she’s not even touching him. Getting her off is a thrill he forgot about, one that can’t be imagined - only experienced.

She arrives at the edge in a quick minute and all it will take is a finger to sink inside of her before she tumbles over it. He knows her body, remembers her tells. She always asked and he always gave, desperate to appease her every need. He waits for her to beg, partly because he loves hearing it and partly because that’s the game they enjoyed.

“Fuck, Bellamy,” she pants. “Please.”

There it is. He delivers his promise and pushes his finger into her, addicted to the fact that she needs him in this very moment. It’s like flicking a switch. The breath catches and releases in Clarke’s throat, followed shortly by the most amazing moan that Bellamy has ever heard. And then she’s coming, almost shaking from the feeling.

He moves back ever so slightly, letting her settle. Her eyes are fucked but he can still see the fire in them, the look that tells him she’s not done. He pulls out his wallet and takes out the condom he always keeps in there. Clarke’s hands run up and down his biceps as he fixes it onto himself, her breathing laboured.

She loves when he’s in control, rough and demanding of her with sex and so much of him doesn’t want to break the play, but he can’t help himself now that they have a slight moment of reprieve.

“Are you sure, Princess?”

It’s not like they can take back what they’ve just done. Stopping here won’t change how wrong this was, but he’s giving her an out now if she wants it.

“Bellamy.” She sounds as wrecked as she looks. “Don’t start questioning this. Just fuck me.”

The moment lies heavy between them. She’s in front of him, sitting on the marble countertop with her legs spread, her white dress curled around her waist. Her blazer lies abandoned behind her in the sink and her hair is a tangled mess from his wandering hands. He can’t resist her, he can’t deny her.

Bellamy surges forward, grabbing her face between his hands and putting his mouth back where it belongs. He kisses her hard as he pushes into her, the feeling almost suffocating him. Fuck, as much as he craved this, the reality is entirely different. It’s terrifying how good it feels, how perfect she fits around him.

And then they’re moving, snapping against one another like their lives depend on it. It’s euphoric, an old addiction consuming him once more. Ten years cold turkey, ten years sober of her - all ruined with a bathroom fuck.

Clarke’s lips drop to the section of skin where his shoulder and neck meet, kissing a bruise there. When he feels her teeth graze him, he’s lost. She knows what that does to him. He moves his hips harder, oblivious to everything else.

“Does he fuck you like this?”

He can’t help himself, the possessiveness running hotly around his body. In his mind, in this moment, she’s still his wife - and he needs to hear her say it.

“No,” she babbles, lost in the sensation of him thrusting into her. “Only you can make me feel like this.”

“Because you’re mine,” he growls. “And I’m yours.”

“Yes,” she agrees quickly. “You’re mine and I’m yours.”

His eyes move over her shoulder, staring at himself in the mirror behind Clarke. His curls are in disarray and somehow, his tie is missing. The top two buttons of his white shirt are open and he almost chokes at the sight of Clarke’s arms around the back of his neck, pulling him into her as much as she can. He leans forward, balancing his palms against the mirror so he can push all his weight into her. He’s rewarded with the most blissful sound from her, a mix between a moan and a shout.

“Oh God,” she gasps. “Fuck Bellamy, I’m close.”

“Yeah, baby,” he murmurs hotly. “Come on.”

He can feel her building around him and his own edge appears in his sight. Suddenly, panic engulfs him. Once they find their release with this, it’s over. They’ll have to deal with the consequences, make some kind of decision with one another.

The thought gets pushed to the back of his head when Clarke scrapes her fingernails down the back of his neck. It sets their pleasure on fire, making everything easy to ignore for now. He’s beyond words, finding it hard to breathe as they push each other to the brink.

And then they’re falling apart, holding one another as both of them reach their high. He’s not sure who gets there first but God, Bellamy’s sight turns black and all he can feel is her.

The come down is the hardest part - as it always is with an addiction. Their limbs are weak, their bodies leaning against one another for support. Clarke’s head lolls against his shoulder and he can do nothing but let his lips skim across the skin on her neck, holding her as close as he can before they have to let go.

The pain has replaced all of the pleasure, filling him up with the most awful feeling. _This isn’t enough_. The fear grips him over how stuck he is. He can’t walk away but God, he can’t move forward. He wasn’t good enough for her back then and even now, with all his wealth, he still doesn’t think he deserves her. She’s sacred, too good for anyone.

His chin rests on her shoulder, pressing a soft kiss there as she detangles her arms from him. He glances up at them in the mirror, trying to memorize what it looks like having her this close to him, take the image in so he can remember this later. That’s when he sees it.

Bellamy zones in on her arm, noticing the ugly fresh cut that has barely scabbed over. It’s long, trailing from her elbow all the way down the back of her forearm. Before, it was hidden by her blazer. Now, it’s as obvious as the clothes she’s wearing.

“Clarke.”

She must hear the concern in his voice because she sits back as he slips out of her, stepping away. Her brow furrows, clearly trying to decipher what’s wrong. He starts doing back up his pants but his eyes never stray from the cut in the mirror.

“Your arm.”

Clarke glances over her shoulder and he watches her eyes focus on what he’s seeing. Then, her jaw clenches and she looks away, pursing her lips. She turns her arm and tries to hide it from him. Too late.

He steps forward, taking her arm gently and pulling it forward so he can see it.

“Bellamy,” she says painfully, not because he hurt her but because she clearly doesn’t _want_ him looking.

She doesn’t pull away though, just watches as he turns her arm over and examines the gash. It’s nasty and deep. Bellamy doesn’t dare touch it because it looks painful, a sharp and long line that looks more horrendous up close.

“Jesus,” he mutters. “What happened?”

“It’s nothing,” she says quickly, removing her arm now so she can turn around.

She fixes her hair in the bathroom mirror, trying to get on with things as if that will make the topic disappear. He stares at her with suspicion now because she’s being weird about it. He expected an explanation of how she fell or had some kind of accident. Now, he’s beginning to think that it wasn’t like that all. His heart picks up speed and his stomach starts to sink.

“Clarke.”

He’s standing a few feet away from her but her eyes still flick to his in the mirror. She’s hiding something from him and it makes his ears buzz. The anger is already starting to simmer because fuck, somewhere deep inside him, he knows.

“Tell me.”

His tone leaves no room for playfulness or lies. She needs to tell him before he storms out of here and finds out for himself what happened.

Clarke sighs, her shoulders sagging in defeat. She spins around, adjusting her dress as she does so. “He didn’t mean it.”

“You better be fucking kidding me,” he growls.

She must see the hostile anger in his eyes because she steps forward, shaking her head. “Listen to me.”

He tears himself away from her grasp, stepping back because he is going to fucking lose it. The self control he practices daily is failing, mainly because he has none when it comes to Clarke. Cillian hurt her? The bile rises in his throat.

“We had a fight over the divorce leak.”

Bellamy’s eyes fall shut. Guilt consumes him, tearing through his body like nothing else. This is his fault. Not only because of the leak, because he wasn’t there to protect her. He wonders if anything like this has happened before. If they were still married, no harm would have come to her. Sure, he’s rough and ready with her during sex but outside of it, his temper would never touch Clarke.

The anger at himself mixes in with the rage towards Cillian, making it a lethal combination.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“No, you’re not,” Clarke argues, her own voice turning into cement. “It was a stupid argument, I cut it myself.”

Bellamy just stares at her. When he speaks, his voice is so low and threatening that it even unnerves him. “On what?”

She blinks at him, caught off guard. “Some broken glass.”

“How did the glass get broken?”

She chews her bottom lip, giving away how nervous she is. “Bellamy.”

“How did the glass get broken, Clarke?” he enunciates.

Clarke blows out a breath, those blue eyes of hers already pleading for mercy. He hates that she’s protecting him. “He threw it.”

That’s all Bellamy needs to hear. He snaps, his knuckles turn white as he spins around, teeth gritted as he heads for the door. Fuck, they’ve had plenty of arguments themselves but ones that turned like that? Never.

“Bellamy!” Clarke swings out in front of him, blocking his path. He glares at her, frustration building behind his eyes.

“Why the hell are you protecting him?”

“Look at what we’ve just done!” she yells. “You can’t seriously be the high and mighty one.”

“It’s a different type of wrong and you fucking know it.” Bellamy points at her.

“There is _only_ right and wrong, here.”

“Our wrong wasn’t a felony!” he roars. “That’s assault, Clarke.”

“He didn’t mean to do it!” she barks out, desperation flooding her tone. “And what you’re going to do to him won’t be assault?”

He pushes past her, scoffing as rage fuels him. “He’ll be lucky if it’s just assault.”

Before he can reach the door, Clarke yanks him back by his arm. “Stop! Let’s just leave.”

“What?” he whispers, the volume drop almost deafening.

“Come on, you and me,” she pleads. “We can leave the gala. Screw everyone else. Let’s just go.”

This freezes him to the spot. He stares at her, observing how wide her eyes are and how her chest rises and falls heavily.

“And what about Cillian?” he asks, a question that should have probably been on his lips before they even kissed. “And Echo?”

Clarke doesn’t reply, she just stands in front of him panting, seemingly searching for words. He’s unjustified throwing that at her because he hasn’t even had time to feel guilty himself yet. But it seems to be the only angle he has.

“Even if I don’t absolutely kill him for that.” He nods at her arm. “You’re _engaged_ , Clarke.”

She gestures to the counter where they had sex. “That didn’t matter a few minutes ago.”

“Well, maybe it should have,” he bites out.

He’s already furious, they should not be having this conversation when he’s so distracted. There’s also an essence of doubt there, creeping up inside his chest and driving the reason he’s pushing her away. The insecurity he’s always felt is screaming at him, telling him not to even invite her back into his life - no matter how much has changed, no matter what they’ve just done. She wasn’t happy back then and he’s not sure he can make her happy now.

She scoffs, shaking her head at him. “Wow, we’re really back here?”

“Clarke.”

“No, Bellamy, fuck you!” she snaps.

His jaw drops a little at her outburst.

“We just fucked, after weeks of trying to keep this pull between us at bay,” she says and he finds himself surprised that she felt the same way. “And now, when the next step needs to be taken, the same thing is stopping you like it did back then. Fear.”

“Stop,” he grits out, shifting his eyes away from her. He doesn’t want to talk about this.

“No. You had this delusional idea that you weren’t good enough for me when we were kids and you still feel like that now, despite all your wealth and success.” She takes a step towards him, in full fire and attack mode. “And you know why? Because money and achievements can’t buy what you’re lacking, Bell. Self belief was never something you were good at.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She breathes out a false laugh. “Oh, I definitely do.”

“You’re putting our divorce on me? You were the one that wasn’t happy with the way we were living back then!”

“Bullshit,” she accuses. “That prejudice lives in your head, Bellamy. It doesn’t come from me. It never did.”

Everything has happened so fast. A few minutes ago, they were absorbed in one another in the throes of pleasure. Now, they’re standing here arguing like ten years ago. He can’t help but wonder if all of this is just to stop him going after Cillian, but he also knows this is a conversation that was coming - just as sure as their kiss was.

“And ironically,” she goes on. “It was _me_ that was never good enough for you. Not as I was, without that judgement you _wanted_ me to have.”

He holds his hand up as if to stop her. “Don’t you dare spin this.”

“Fuck spinning it.” Clarke turns around, stomping over to grab her purse that has been abandoned on the countertop. “You were always waiting for the ball to drop, always waiting for me to point the finger and it was exhausting.”

“So you’re saying that’s why we got divorced?”

“Yes.” She faces him now, a fire in her eyes that he’s never seen before. “I can’t live like that. And I won’t live like that now. So you want to push me away again? Fine. Have it your way.”

She tries to storm off by him but it’s his turn to stop her now. “Clarke.”

To her credit, when his hand wraps gently around her bicep, she doesn’t go any further. With just a simple touch, he can already see some of the anger leaking away in her eyes. The same with him - he can’t seem to summon it as harshly as he wants. Maybe because on some level, he knows what she’s saying is true.

“You always wanted me to think a certain way of you instead of just stopping and actually seeing how I did see you.” She sighs, her voice softer now. “All of that successful crap, that only mattered to you. I was happy to live in your mom’s house. I would have been happy anywhere with you.”

He swallows the golf sized lump in his throat. “You wouldn’t have always been that happy.”

It was always his worst fear that she’d get fed up and find someone more her pedigree. Maybe she’s right - maybe he did sabotage everything. Only because he had to get to the punch first.

“I don’t need all of this.” She flips the lapels of his expensive suit. “I had it and I ran from it.”

He can’t speak. God, has he really fucked things up so badly between them? Is he really the reason they’re not together now?

“You need to think about what you want, Bellamy.” She steps away from him towards the door and unlocks it. Before she leaves, she turns her head over her shoulder, those beautiful eyes of hers balanced on him. “Because what _I_ want was never the problem.”

* * *

Bellamy spends the next few days wrapped up in the fallout of what happened at the gala. He called Echo over to finish things between them, although he suspects that if he hadn’t have made contact, she wouldn’t have either. She was content to let their relationship die, even before he messed things up.

She was smug about the breakup, full of eye rolls and phrases like “whatever, Bellamy.” She acted like she saw it coming, expected it on some level. Maybe she knew from that very first night in the bar when he ran into Clarke that their relationship was on borrowed time. And she’d have been right, Bellamy just couldn’t see it then.

He was never going to exist with somebody else when fate had literally handed him back his first love. What more of a sign did he need? There was always something missing and seeing Clarke again just reminded him of what that was.

There was no way he could go on with Echo after the gala. He’d be living a lie, continuously being unfair to Echo. Besides, there seems to be no room for forgiveness on either end of them, even if they wanted to continue with their relationship. The divorce leak and the cheating were the final nails in their coffin.

Of course, the bitterness was never going to sit well with her. It joined with her constant search for fame and attention and produced another leak to the press - this time, about two flames reuniting at a charity event, despite their (very much absent) partners. The gossip magazines and tabloids were all over it, lapping up whatever details Echo could provide. It was paired with photos of him and Clarke through the glass doors of the art house, their greeting blown out of proportion in a million different ways.

“What are you doing to my company?”

Kane uses it as a means of greeting when Bellamy answers his phone. His voice doesn’t contain any heat though, just a little mockery.

“Kane. Why did I even want this?” Bellamy complains, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

He hasn’t left his penthouse since the news leak yesterday, wallowing in the decisions that have led him here. Clarke’s words from the gala are still circling his mind too, spinning him in a typhoon that doesn’t allow him a breath but refuses to kill him either.

Kane chuckles, the sound of beach waves following it on the other end of the phone. “And here I was, lecturing you about quality of life. If the headlines are anything to go by, I’d say you have the balance down to a fine art.”

Bellamy groans, knowing that Kane has seen everything about his affair with Clarke at the charity gala. He hadn’t told Echo much, but she clearly exaggerated to death. Talked about it being a planned thing and that’s why they both had left their partners at home. Bellamy’s stomach twists again, hoping to God that Cillian hadn’t tried to take any more of his anger out on Clarke because of it.

He had called her after the news leak but she wouldn’t answer him. He’s only grown more anxious since then.

“Bellamy, the papers will always have something to talk about,” Kane tells him. “You’re doing good things with your status, even if the vultures try to ruin them with your personal life.”

Kane knows how shit Bellamy’s home life was when he was younger and he knows how important these charities are to him now. He’s right, he shouldn’t be worried about what the papers are saying about him. But to be honest, that’s the least of his concerns.

“I don’t know what to do,” Bellamy mumbles pathetically.

“Yes you do,” Kane replies, knowing that they’re no longer talking about the media. “You’ve always known what to do. It’s how you became CEO.”

“You’re how I became CEO,” Bellamy corrects him.

“I gave you the opportunity, you proved that you could do it.” He hears a glass clink off a table on the other end. Kane really is living his best life in the Bahamas. “That head of yours, Bellamy. It’s stubborn and determined. Apply it where it matters.”

Kane always told Bellamy not to get swept away in things that don’t matter. Achieve what you want to achieve and then move onto the next thing. It’s why Kane retired so early. He had plenty of mileage left in him to run the company but it wasn’t his end goal. Now, Bellamy needs to ask himself what his own one is.

Bellamy smirks, knowing his uncle’s angle here. “You always liked her.”

He expects some clever reply, something like Clarke was the only likeable thing about him or that she always managed to keep him busy. It’s not what he gets.

“She makes you happy, keeps you centered.” Kane pauses for a moment to let that sink in. “You’ve put up a wall, Bellamy. You refuse to let yourself be anything but successful. But that’s not always the best path.”

He’s right. He’s let his desire to be someone get in the way of having someone - the only one. He can’t dispute what Clarke said the other night - his own insecurities destroyed them. And now, he has a second chance. He’s not going to ruin it.

“It’s not too late to choose the right side,” Kane tells him.

And that’s exactly what Bellamy does.

* * *

The drive to Clarke’s office was quiet, giving Bellamy plenty of time to think about what he’s going to say. Of course, now that he’s here, his plan has gone out the window.

There are no paparazzi tailing him today, satisfied with their stories for now. It means he can slip into her building undetected. And even if they were to get a photo of him there, so what? They all know now and he’s certainly not going to deny the affair. Not when it happened, not when it’s the truth - not when he’s hopefully going to be publicly linked with her after tonight.

Everyone has left for the evening but if he knows Clarke the way he thinks he does, she’s still here. When she’s stressed, she throws herself into work for escape.

Bellamy rides the elevator to her paper’s floor, his mind turning a mile a second. The last few days have been eye opening. He realises that he spent their entire relationship waiting to be someone else. Waiting to grow. Waiting to move on. But he never felt more himself than when he was with her. When everything was heavy, she helped him carry it. When his mother was a problem, he had her. When he worried about money, she whispered reassurances in his ear. When he didn’t know who he was, she always did.

Melancholy sweeps over him when he looks back and realizes that when he felt so lost, he was actually found. And the moment he thought his life started, he was actually drifting into the abyss.

The elevator dings opened, revealing a brightly lit space. As predicted, it’s empty - except for the sound of typing coming from the corner office. Hands in his pockets, he makes his way over. Sure enough, he sees her blonde hair buried in her laptop screen, stress evident on her features from where he’s standing. Bellamy leans against the door frame and she doesn’t notice he’s there until he speaks.

“You haven’t been returning my calls.”

Her head pops up in surprise, a little startled at the sudden noise in her office. “Bellamy.”

“I was worried.”

He scans her, not seeing any grievous bodily harm. Relief floods him, thankful that Cillian hadn’t reacted to this news leak the same way as the other one.

Clarke closes her laptop and folds her arms across the desk. As always, she looks radiant. She’s dressed in a simple white shirt that cuffs around her wrists neatly. He notices in an instant that she’s not wearing her engagement ring.

“I was going to drop by,” she says softly.

He gets it. He didn’t know how to approach this whole thing with her either. She had left him with a decision to make the night of the gala but as usual, everything spiraled from there.

“You okay?” he asks. “The news leak probably came as a bit of a surprise.”

She shakes her head, her perfect curls moving along with her. “I knew it meant that you told Echo.”

“And Cillian?”

“He already had the heads up before the headlines broke.”

Bellamy steps further into her office, his hands still draped in the pockets of his suit pants. His fingers trace the curve of the box in his pocket, for courage more than anything else.

“How did that go?”

“Better than the last time,” she answers. “He was sober, for one. Just not happy.”

“Can’t say I blame him,” he admits gruffly. “He left?”

Clarke just nods, her face not giving anything away as to how she feels about that. She blows out a breath through her nose, gesturing for Bellamy to sit down at the opposite side of her desk. He does, keeping his eyes on her.

“My mother called.”

Bellamy has to stifle a scoff and refrain himself from rolling his eyes. This should be good.

“And?”

Clarke shrugs. “I didn’t answer.”

Bellamy studies her, the old self doubt starting to creep back in just at the mere mention of her mother. “You just gonna ignore her forever?”

“That’s up to her,” she states, tone flat. “Depends on how long it takes for her to accept it.”

“Accept what?”

Clarke searches him for something before she answers, but he can’t tell what. “That I love you. And that’s never gonna change.”

He sucks in a short breath. Hearing that in the present tense does something to his heart, makes it blow up in a way that it never did before. Logically, he knows something still existed between them, but to hear it out loud is nothing short of a miracle. She still loves him.

“I thought a lot about what you said,” he chokes out, knowing how shaky his voice sounds. “And you were right.”

Her lips turn up into a weak smile, forced because he can see how hard she’s breathing. “I always am.”

He barks out a laugh himself. “You are, Princess.”

“So, what does that mean for us?”

He takes the small velvet box out of his pocket, the one that still holds her wedding ring. He opens it and places it on her desk to face her. Her eyes drop to it, heavy in a way that tells him she’s shocked that he kept it after all this time.

“It means if you’re still in, I am too.”

He wishes he had her old engagement ring to offer her, but maybe she’d want something new. Hell, the wedding ring is worth nothing - but she can pick out a new one if she wants.

She surprises him when she opens her desk drawer and pulls out an old box of her own. When she opens it, he can see her old engagement ring in there. He never knew what she did with it. He assumed she’d have gotten rid of it but no, here it is, the same one he put on her finger all those years ago.

Clarke drops it on the desk beside his own velvet box. The two rings look incomplete without his own wedding band, still safely stored in his penthouse. But her set is now back together, staring back at them with all the memories they tried to push down. Infinite circles containing their infinite love.

When he looks up at her, she’s smiling with tears in her eyes. “I’m still in.”

Bellamy doesn’t even take stock in what he’s doing. He surges up at the same time she does, both of them meeting halfway around the side of her desk. And when he kisses her, Bellamy realises how stupid everything else is - all his wealth and success, his status and the opinions of others. It’s transient like snow, but Clarke? God, she’s home, made of sturdy construction. The only permanent thing in his life.

As she laughs against his lips, he knows he’ll never let her go again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already, please check out [this](https://underbellamy.tumblr.com/post/641866962462441472/bellarke-fanfiction-dedication-paper-planes-by) amazing edit for this fic by Bri (@underbellamy). It's so incredible and I love her too much.
> 
> A special thank you to Essie for running [Bellarke January Joy](https://bellarkejanuaryjoy.tumblr.com) again this year.
> 
> A permanent shoutout to Ciara (icantloseyou-too) who is my biggest support system with most fics. I'd be lost without her.
> 
> You can find me both on [tumblr](http://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/eyessharp100). As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated 💛
> 
> You can find the [aesthetic](https://eyessharpweaponshot.tumblr.com/post/641829500362145792/paper-planes-a-bellarke-modern-au-chapter-%C2%BD) for this fic here.


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